


The Impossible Dream

by BJackson



Series: Two Leapers [8]
Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: Alternate Timeline, Angst, Drama, Gen, Torture, abuse mention, evil project
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-13 17:27:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 44,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18473653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BJackson/pseuds/BJackson
Summary: After a freak accident places Sam inside the evil Project, Al must work together with Sam's alternate self to rescue him. But before they can get there, they must save a young woman from an accidental murder and Beckett has to do some soul-searching to finally do the right thing.





	1. Chapter 1

     The crack of thunder was so loud, it rattled the windows. The door blasted open as a soaking wet Sam and Al came rushing in from the storm. It took only a moment of searching before they heard footsteps and spotted who they were looking for rushing up the spiraled steps of the old radio station.

     “There he is, Sam!”

     Instantly, Sam was darting toward the staircase. “Make sure the record’s on!”

     Sam went up, Al went forward. This leap had been…bizarre. Things had seemed so simple, but they knew by now that meant it was probably very complicated. The objective: save a relationship between a shy kid named Simon and his on-and-off girlfriend Felicia. In the original history, this was their last breakup and both of them never found love again. It was beautiful really, that they just needed a reminder of why they loved each other in the first place. Still, nothing seemed to add up. Everything they affected seemed to change at random and they couldn’t puzzle out why. Finally, Ziggy calculated they could save the leap if Simon and Felicia heard the song they first danced to. Odds were 82.7% that they would hear the song, fall in love again, and stick together this time.

     And then they realized someone wasn’t following the script at all. Everywhere they’d turned, Simon’s best friend Jake had been mucking things up. Getting in their heads, planting the seeds of doubt. It took them the whole leap, but they finally saw that he was the element that didn’t match history.

     And that could only mean one thing. It was time to pull off Jake’s mask.

     Sam found him on the roof, bat ready to bash in the satellite. “Stop!” Jake glanced over his shoulder. Sam frowned. “Why’re you doing this?”

     “Nothing personal, kid.”

     He raised the bat. Sam lunged at him and they came sliding to the ground in the rain. They began to grapple for the bat.

     Al made it to the roof in time to see sparks fly and Jake transform into his exact double.

     Oh no. 

     “Sam!”

     If his other half was involved, so were the evil leapers. And they hadn’t exactly ended their last leap together on the best of terms. Sam and Calavicci stared at each other in shock. “You!” they said together.

     Calavicci shoved him off and scrambled to his feet. Sam got into a fighting stance, ready to defend himself. This other Al was volatile, unpredictable, and, this time, had more personal reasons to want to kill him. Sam could only surmise that their presence had been as much of a surprise to him, because if he’d known it was Sam and Al on this leap, things would have gotten bloody. Maybe they still would.

     And truthfully…Sam wasn’t sure it was undeserved.

     Calavicci tossed the bat aside. Sam furrowed his brows. The other man made no other move.

     “Get me outta here,” he ordered to someone unseen.

     Why wasn’t he attacking? Was he just going to give the leap to them? That seemed entirely out of character for someone who had tried to kill them more than once. Sam wasn’t sure what to do.

     Al felt like he was going nuts. Why was Sam just standing there?! He was gonna get himself killed. He pushed his wet hair out of his face and wiped his eyes. Seeing the bat roll nearby, he gauged how quickly he could get to it before being noticed.

     A red glow began to permeate around the other leaper, who simply watched Sam with narrowed eyes. Sam was keenly aware of the Al behind him and in front of him, but he didn’t want to take the offensive. He lowered his fists. The other Al was going to be gone and, in a moment, so would they. As the song began to broadcast, a blue glow surrounded Sam and Al.

     Suddenly, there was a loud BOOM and a bolt of lightning came down from the heavens, surrounding Sam and the other leaper.

     “SAM!”

     The light was so blinding Al had to close his eyes.

\-------

     When he opened them, he was standing next to a truck in the day time, completely dry. With confusion, he looked down at the stack of blankets in his hands.

     Someone fell to the ground behind him. He whipped around. Sam was flat on his butt, halfway in the street.

     Al breathed a sigh of relief. He thought for sure something had happened to him. “Oh thank god,” he breathed, setting the blankets in the truck bed and making his way over, “I was worried for a second there! You okay, Sam?”

     He reached out to help him up, but Sam scrambled back. He was breathing heavily, eyes darting everywhere in panic. “What the hell happened?!”

     Al jumped back in surprise and lifted his palms. “It’s okay, Sam. We leaped. I think you just got a bit of a shock.”

     For the first time, Sam really met his eyes and a look of realization dawned on him. His pupils slit as he grabbed the back of the truck, dragging himself to his feet. He seemed to have trouble standing. “You’re the other one. And I’m…” He gazed around the small town that surrounded them and knit his eyebrows together. “…I’m out.”

     Now Al saw who it really was, but that was impossible. He stared in disbelief. “You died.”

     “…almost.”

     No. No, no, no. Not this Sam, not again! He wasn’t sure he could take another leap with him, could handle the constant grief and misery he brought. He didn’t know how he survived that fall, but right now he didn’t care. He and his Sam had to…

     His chest tightened as what happened hit him like Muhammad Ali. The lightning strike. It had switched them. He took a staggered step forward.

     “Wait a minute. If you’re here…where the hell is Sam?”

\-------

     Hot white faded into cold black, and Sam found himself standing in complete darkness. The room was silent. Felt empty. The only sound was his breathing.

     Something was in his hand. He lifted it up, the only bit of light in the room. A glowing triangle with blinking lights. He furrowed his brows as he tried to figure out what it was.

     The sound of humming machinery. A runway of red light suddenly appeared, leading the way to a single red door with a familiar shape. The door slid up, and a velvety voice filled the room with a terrifying, dulcet tone.

     “We’re waiting, Samuel.”

\-------

     Al stood frozen. Beckett leaned against the truck, equally immobile.

     Then, without warning, Al darted forward and grabbed the other man violently by the front of his shirt. “What the hell did you do?!” he demanded as he shook him. This was some sort of plan, he knew it. Some revenge for the last leap they had together.

     This woke up the stunned leaper, who slapped away his hands. “Back off! I didn’t do anything!” Brushing down the front of his shirt, he stared at the town as the reality of his situation started to sink in. “I didn’t…I didn’t…” His mouth hung slack. His eyes grew wide. Words left him.

     Al stared with a stony expression, a shadow of distrust cast over him. The last time he’d encountered this Sam, he’d scrambled his brains and nearly gotten him to take a dive off a building. Oh yeah, and the imposter ended up taking that leap himself, but apparently the reports of his death were greatly exaggerated. Al wasn’t sure what the evil leapers were up to, but if they were here, that could only mean Trouble with a capital T. He couldn’t let his guard down for one second.

     Maybe in the past he could’ve given Beckett the benefit of the doubt, but he’d since proven he was nothing like Sam. Peel back the layers and he was evil at the core, and Al had seen evil in its purest form, so he knew. He wouldn’t be deceived by outward appearances again. That wasn’t Sam Beckett anymore.

     He could still see his boots teetering off the edge of the roof, feel his heart racing as he convinced himself he had to jump. Could sense Beckett’s gaze on him as he soothingly told him he was doing the right thing. Dynamite against his chest, clock counting down, Beckett’s eyes crinkling with amusement. Fists beating down into his face. Screaming. A gunshot. Flames everywhere. And the laughter. He _enjoyed_ it. Al’s fists shook at his sides. The double did all of that, but he'd be damned if he let him take Sam away. He wouldn’t let him.

     Beckett pushed himself off of the truck and stumbled into the street. Al noticed how he dragged his leg behind him as he struggled to walk properly; he was injured. Good. That meant he wasn’t going to get far. As quietly as possible, he was going to get him into his truck and find a nice, secluded spot for an interrogation. This bastard was his.

     Then suddenly, a ’62 Ford Falcon came squealing to a halt with Beckett bent over the hood.

     The driver, a panicked young man with blonde hair and a farmer’s tan, had barely begun to exit the car when Beckett pulled himself along the vehicle to the passenger window.

     “I’m sorry, I didn’t see y--!”

     “Give me a ride.”

     The young man blinked. “Uh—sure.”

     Beckett was already sliding inside. He cast a glance back at Al, who was hurrying toward the car to catch him. 

     “Hold it! Don’t you dare--!”

     “Drive. Now!”

     The young man pressed on the gas and the car peeled out, leaving Al in the dust. He slowed to a stop and coughed, frantically searching his pockets for keys to the truck. No such luck. Damn it! Maybe he could hot wire it; once again his years spent as a troubled youth were going to pay off. As he hopped inside the truck to start, he realized he'd already lost track of the station wagon. Letting out a yell of frustration, he slammed his hand into the steering wheel.

     This leap just went to hell in a handbasket.

     Great! Now he was loose out here and taking the chances of getting the _real_ Sam back with him! Every time Al encountered this nozzle, he spent half his time nearly getting murdered and the other half searching for him. He began to hot wire the truck again and hoped that when he got it going he picked the right direction.

     Whether it was planned or not, the two Sams had switched places. So if _this_ Sam was here, _his_ Sam was in the other place.

     “Well, _shit_ …”

\-------

     The open red door loomed at the end of the runway, seeming to shrink further into the distance as Sam stood immobilized.

     He knew this place. He couldn’t explain it. Logic told him he’d never been here before, but somehow he knew it. He knew it, but his mind refused to acknowledge the familiarity. Because when it began to touch on the fringes of his memory, it filled him with dread.

     “Samuel,” the voice insisted. The same sweet tone remained, but for some reason he felt a sense of panic at being called twice. He shouldn’t keep them waiting.

     Nervously, he took a step forward and realized for the first time that there was a brace on his leg. And in the scarlet glow from the runway, he could see the crutch that had been dropped as he leaped in. Hurriedly, he slipped the glowing triangle into his pants pocket, picked up the crutch, and made his way toward the door.

     Sam couldn’t remember ever starting a leap feeling this uneasy. Just who had he leaped into? Someone named Samuel, Samuel who? And where the hell was Al? Had he leaped into someone in this place? Wherever this place was.

     Taking in one last deep breath, he entered the light and found himself in a crimson hallway leading to another door. It seemed much longer than it probably was. He pressed on. The brace was cumbersome and caused him to lurch forward. A blessing in disguise, he supposed, since it would help him pretend to be Samuel. As he got closer to the door, his sense of déjà vu grew stronger and stronger. Now he was _certain_ he’d been somewhere like this. The triangle he’d been holding. The voice. It was all familiar. But it couldn’t be.

     He stopped at the door and his blood ran ice cold. No. This was impossible.

     Reflected in the metal surface was Sam Beckett.

     Once again, Sam’s feet were nailed to the spot. His muscles had turned to stone. He couldn’t go in there. Not in this place. Not as this man.

     He was dead. He’d killed him.

     This door too slid open and his reflection disappeared. Having no other option, he slowly lurched inside.

     He was met with a place he recognized but wasn’t his. The Project Control Room sat menacingly before him, but transformed itself into something else. The bright blue and rainbow and gold had bled into the same menacing crimson, and at the control panel stood another ghost from his past.

     “You’ve made Lothos very impatient, Samuel,” Zoey said evenly. She placed her hands on the panel and leaned forward. “Why did you ask to be pulled out early?”

     Silence. Sam could only stare in shock. A shotgun in his hands. He pulled the trigger. Zoey crumpled to the ground.

     “Why, Samuel, you look positively wretched,” Zoey commented with half of an amused smirk, “Perhaps I should call the doctor to take a look at you.”

     “He asked me to be pulled because the retrieval window was running out.” Sam and Zoey’s attention went toward the door leading to the Accelerator. Out of it stepped Al, who strolled casually over to Sam.

     Sam’s eyes lit up at a familiar face. He _had_ leaped here! Thank god.

     Al narrowed a single challenging eye at Zoey. There was something different about him, something harder. “Or did you want to explain to the Director why you stranded one of his leapers?”

     Instantly, Sam’s hope sunk from his stomach down to his toes. This wasn’t his Al.

     He was alone here.

     Clearly Zoey was irritated at Calavicci’s cocky response, but evidently he’d made a point she understood. Folding her hands together on the panel, she cocked an eyebrow and pretended she was still in charge. “I don’t see any reason to get the Director involved. I suppose it was…a concerted effort.”

     Calavicci stayed deferentially silent. He’d gotten his meaning across and he wasn’t going to push it further. Zoey’s penetrating eyes swooped over the both of them, deciding whether or not they were up to something. The decision must have been up in the air, because she didn’t pursue it.

     “Fine then. You’re dismissed.”

     Sam could feel Calavicci’s subtle breath of relief next to him. He hadn’t noticed before just how scared he was, but despite his brave approach he was subtly trembling. Keeping his face carefully neutral and hiding his nerves, he started toward the exit, so Sam followed his lead. He didn’t want to be around either of them, but he had to pretend to follow orders until he could figure out what to do. If…if there was anything he _could_ do.

     Where was Gooshie? Where was Al?

     “Oh, Samuel.”

     Both men froze. Sam craned his head back and saw Zoey’s hand gesture toward the cradle on the control panel. After a split second of confusion, he suddenly remembered the triangle handlink in his pocket. Fumbling for it, he used his crutch as quickly as he could to place the handlink in the charger. Zoey observed him under hooded eyes and he hoped he didn’t give himself away. He avoided looking at her directly and kept his head low.

     She said nothing. He pivoted back toward the door where Calavicci was waiting for him.

     But Zoey had one more thing to add before they parted ways. Her malicious grin was back. “Don’t forget you still failed this leap, boys. I won’t.”

     The door slid open. Sam anxiously followed the other leaper.

\-------

     Leaving that room made Sam feel like he could breathe just a little easier, but still, the walls of this place seemed to close in oppressingly from all angles. He couldn’t shake this feeling he was being watched. He knew he had to be exceedingly careful. Something told him the stories he had heard about this place had barely scratched the surface of what was hidden here.

     He had no idea where to go, but his companion did. As much as the other Al made his skin crawl, he had saved his neck back there. He cared about the other Sam, and that’s who he was right now. So Sam followed him uneasily through the hallways, passing the occasional guard armed with a taser and club. Absurd as it was, Calavicci was his only ally right now.

     He didn’t trust him. He’d made that mistake briefly in 1982 before Calavicci had helped the other Sam try to kill Al. He wasn’t sure why they’d decided to leave the last leap at the radio station, but he couldn’t assume it was for good intentions. He had to find out more. And he couldn’t let him know who he really was, or he would try to kill him too.

     Well, why shouldn’t he?

     Sam had let Calavicci’s partner fall. He _should have_ been dead. He had to question why Calavicci should trust _him_ after that.

     Calavicci stopped at a door, but didn’t go in. He faced Sam, glancing warily at the guards. “That was close,” he whispered.

     “Yeah. I—”

     A light flashed above the door and it opened. Calavicci looked up, suddenly rushed. This flashing was a warning. Get inside. His attention returned to Sam; he leaned in just slightly. “I’ll see you tonight.”

     There was an intensity behind his expression, a promise. He was going to be there. And with that, he was gone.

     That must mean this was Sam’s quarters. A cautious eye on the guards himself, he hobbled inside.

     A spartan room. A bed. A drawer. A light.

     The door slammed shut like a jail cell.

\-------

     “ _Merda!_ ” When the next corner revealed no sign of the Ford or the wayward leaper, Al cursed to himself and jerked the wheel to the right. He was a slippery son of a bitch, that was for sure. But Al was gonna find him and get his friend back.

     That is, as soon as he changed his pants after a hologram in a lab coat appeared in the middle of the road. He slammed on the brakes, but not before Gooshie slid through the hood and ended up embedded in the seat next to him.

     Both of their screams petered out and a pissed off Al whipped his head toward him. A terrified Gooshie peeked out from behind his fingers to find he was still alive. Looking down at his cut off torso, he blew out a breath as he remembered he was safe in the future.

     “Oh wow. You nearly hit me.”

     “Gooshie!”

     “Sorry, Admiral. I didn’t realize you were driving.” Gooshie gave a weak smile. Al glared and quickly revved up the truck again.

     “I don’t have time for this, Gooshie. I gotta find an imposter.”

     Realizing he was being left behind, Gooshie punched some buttons on the pile of gummy bears in his hand and synced himself up to the truck’s movements. As he did so, he spoke distractedly. “Normally I wouldn’t rush in like this, but there were some unusual readings at the end of last—hm? An imposter?” After his delayed reaction, he lifted his head and gazed out onto the road.

     “There was a lightning strike. I ended up with Bizarro Sam.” Al couldn’t talk much. He had to focus on the task at hand.

     Gooshie furrowed his brows and squinted his beady little eyes. “Bizarro—oh. _Ohhh!"_ His beady eyes were suddenly very wide. “B-But, I-I thought he was dead!”

     “So did I, but evidently evil leapers are made out of some pretty tough material.”

     The process was slow, but eventually Gooshie began to piece things together. “But if he’s here, doesn’t that mean Doctor Beckett is…?”

     “Bingo.”

     “…bango bongo.” Gooshie’s shocked face made a perfect ‘o.’

     Miffed at yet another imposter of his own, Al slit his eyes at him askance. “Look, Goosh. I don’t know how we’re gonna do it, but we need to switch them back.”

     Gooshie scratched his head in confusion. That was a tall order. “Gee, that’s a tough one. Last time that happened, Doctor Beckett had to leap into you to get you back to the Project.”

     “Obviously we don’t have that option this time. Any other ideas?”

     “Well…we’d need to know where he is, first of all, and I don’t know how I’m going to get that information.”

     “I know one person who has the answer.”

     Gooshie stared at Al with confusion. A pause. He froze. He knew who he meant, and he knew what he was getting at. “….you want me to center in on him, don’t you?”

     Al’s teeth flashed in an annoyed grimace. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

     “Ummm…w-well, here’s the thing about, um...” Gooshie fiddled nervously with the handlink, pretending to press buttons. He gasped with sudden inspiration. “Oh! If you give me a few minutes, I think I can get some coordinates a-and, um, send you to…”

     “Oh for god’s sake, Gooshie, you’re a hologram! He can’t hurt you. Just ask him some questions and see what you can get."

     “Yes, but—”

     “Besides, you’re not the one he tried to kill,” Al pointed out with irritation, “Grow a little backbone. Until he tries to throw you off a roof, blow you up, burn you to death—”

     “Yes, I remember the fire,” Gooshie said quietly.

     That shut Al up very quickly.

     His anger or his swiss-cheesing or maybe just foot-in-mouth disease had made him forget that Gooshie was there when the other Sam tried to burn Project Quantum Leap to the ground. Closing his eyes at his own insensitive stupidity, he took a moment before speaking up again. “I know. I’m sorry.” He looked away from the road briefly at his friend. “He hurt all of us. And I hate asking you to do it, but I need you, buddy. Sam needs you.”

     Gooshie smooshed up his mouth. He knew he was being silly, that he was in no real danger, but Doctor Beckett and Admiral Calavicci were. It was up to him, and he really didn’t want that responsibility. Why couldn’t he just be a programmer again? He couldn’t even stand to see Doctor Beeks at the infirmary after she’d been attacked by their co-director’s evil doubles. He’d felt lousy about it, but he didn’t like to see blood. 

     “Please. Ask him what you can. Whatever you can’t find out, I’ll get out of him one way or another.” Al gave him a tight, reassuring grin. He wasn’t in this alone. But right now, Doctor Beckett was.

     Gooshie nodded bravely and swallowed. “You got it, Admiral.” With another punch of a button, he blinked out of sight.

\-------

     Beckett was terrified, more terrified than he’d been in ages.

     He wasn’t sure why. Perhaps because he’d been numb for so long. But he should be ecstatic. After all, he had the one thing he’d wanted for thirty years. Right? He was free. Honestly and truly, no baggage to hold him behind. No fight for control, no Project on his tail…he could get out of this truck and just keep walking, walk until his feet bled, til the soles peeled off and his strength left him and still he would be his own man. He thought back to the countless nights spent dreaming of what he would do the moment he was away from that Place: find a decent meal, a drink, a touch. Count the stars. Just rest. Sleep quietly for the first time.

     But it was empty without the one soul he wanted to be with.

     When he plummeted to what he thought was certain death, he felt he had lost everything that had ever given him a shred of hope. If Saint Beckett really wasn’t the man he said he was, then what possibility was there for him? But worse still was the realization that even after his soul was torn apart…life went on. He wasn’t dead, but why? It was the same place, the same rules, the same endless grind. It would be better if he had never woken up. He wanted that. Maybe then he would have something like peace. It would be finished.

     But damn him. Damn Calavicci. He wanted him alive, he wanted him to be a godforsaken hero just like he had failed to be time and time again. He reached inside him and found the one last piece that was holding onto life, onto his sixteen year old self, and told him to hang on just a little while longer. Evidently during his coma Calavicci had had an epiphany of sorts, because he was ready to fight his way back now too. Funny, but suddenly Beckett was seeing a side of him he’d only imagined in the other Al, the one who believed in him and fought for a better future somehow, someway. Beckett saw a light in him he thought had been snuffed out within himself. And for a brief moment, they shined even more brightly together.

     He went rigid and grabbed tightly onto the door.

     “Stop the truck.”

     “But, Mr. Walsh—”

     “I said stop the damn truck!”

     The truck had barely braked before Beckett was fumbling for the handle and forcing his way out. His uneven gait sent him veering into a tree for balance.

     “Mr. Walsh?”

     Beckett ignored him. Instead, he picked up an old branch, steadied himself with it, and forced himself up the hilltop into the sunset. Leaving the confused young man behind, he ignored the shooting pain in his leg as he pushed himself further and further and adrenaline surged through him. The higher he got, the more the pangs of excitement threatened to tear him down. But he’d been here before. He thought. It had to be. What if it was?

     Sweat was beading his brow by the time he reached the top, and then, gasping for air, the rest of his breath left him. And he felt…something. Something he thought he’d lost. Almost imperceptibly, he was smiling.

     Bathed in the beautiful hues of the sinking sun, he could see the entire town laid out before him. And just beyond it, a couple miles out, was Elk Ridge.

     He was almost home.

     It was like a damn movie. The golden fingers of light crawling past the tree line, and music swelling in the air. He scolded himself and beat back his optimism before it undid him. Be careful. He couldn’t rule out the possibility that he’d been knocked out on the street when that car hit him and he was trapped in his dream world again. The Boogieman waited in the shadows, like he always did, to swallow him up when he allowed himself a moment of happiness.

     But the music was real.

     It was coming from another side of the hill, to his left. With another glance toward Elk Ridge to make sure it was still there, he cautiously made his way toward the sound.

     _To dream the impossible dream, to fight the unbeatable foe, to bear with unbearable sorrow, to go where the brave dare not go…_

It was a play. A rickety wooden stage was lit up before a modest audience, an old man with a wiry beard and a dented suit of armor filled the stage with his presence. A squat man and a woman in rags listened intently as he sang, his sword lifted courageously.

     _To right the unrightable wrong, to love pure and chaste from afar, to try when your arms are too weary, to reach the unreachable star…_

Beckett’s eyes slit as he watched, his face wrinkled with deep concentration. A disconcerting familiarity ran its fingers up his spine and signed to him an incomplete story. He tried reaching further, peeking through the slits in the floorboards, but the full picture was just out of view.

     Wait a minute. He inched closer and squinted. He could have sworn the man under the armor…looked a lot like him.

     He blinked and he was gone. The lionhearted old man from before spread out his arms and bellowed about his quest.

     “Excuse me…D-Doctor Beckett?”

     He jumped and whipped around. Upon seeing the funny little man in the futuristic lab coat, he sighed at the inconvenience. “Oh. It’s one of you.”

     He was a hologram. Safe to say there was nothing to worry about. Having come back to his senses, he started to trek back across the hill. Yes, Elk Ridge was waiting.

     The short man with the gunky mustache hesitated at the brush-off before tripping after him. “Yes, I…I—I suppose you could say that,” he replied nervously. It seemed as if the last thing he wanted to do was follow him, and yet here he was trailing like a lost dog. “C—Could I talk to you, Doctor Beckett?”

     "You see a doctor around here?”

     “Oh, um…Mr. Beckett. Sir.”

     He couldn’t help it. This elicited a small chuckle and a glance back. “No one’s ever called me either of those things before.”

     The other man did a lot of huffing and puffing for someone in a cushy, air conditioned Imaging Chamber in the future. The dismissal threw him, but nonetheless, he stayed resilient. “Mr. Beckett. I—I’m authorized to speak to you on behalf of, um, Project Quantum Leap, and—”

     “And who’re you, their jester?”

     The hologram was slow, but with his leg they were about even. Now that he'd reached him somewhat, he caught his breath and straightened his coat with thinly-bluffed assertiveness. “I’m the head programmer and Observer. You can call me Gooshie.”

     Feet stopping in the grass. This could take all night, what with his shadow being a hologram and all. He had to try and get rid of him somehow. Beckett turned around to face him. Ugh. The programmer was opting for the friendly approach, but his thin smile couldn’t disguise the anxious quaking.

     Beckett’s lip curled up sarcastically. “Is that Doctor or Mr. Gooshie?”

     Gooshie blinked with confusion. “Uh, no. Just Gooshie.”

     This was pathetic. Was this the best Project Quantum Leap was going to throw at him? He didn't remember them being quite this sad. “I know you, don’t I? We met before.”

     “Yes. Once.” Gooshie’s eyes evaded him. Ah, that was right. They’d met when he’d infiltrated their project, pretended to be their Director. He hadn’t given him too much thought then. He was too busy stealing their files and sending everything up in smoke. He was barely giving him thought now.

     A sigh. Beckett put a hand to his hip. “Is this really your plan? You’re gonna what, negotiate with me?”

     He was scared, but he was giving this a good effort. Shame he didn’t get him in the fire. “W-We just want what you want,” Gooshie squeaked, “Honest. Maybe if we work together, we can get—”

     “What _I_ want?” Beckett repeated incredulously, taking a step forward, “What I want. How the hell do you know what I want?”

     With more logic on his side now, Gooshie became a little braver. “Think about it! With you and Doctor Beckett switched, you’re tied to our leap now. When this leap ends, you leap out too. You don’t want to be stuck with us, do you?”

     “And you think I’d rather go back to that hellhole?”

     Er, he had a point. Gooshie took out his computer handlink and pressed buttons to try and produce a number or a fact to back him up. “Uh, no, I-I guess not, but—” He startled. Beckett was a foot away now.

     Boy he’d love to punch his face in. Yet another cruel joke the universe played on him, making this weasel intangible. “How about this solution? What if I just finish the job I started the last time I was on a leap with you?” He dug his stick into the ground and shuffled awkwardly in a circle as if searching. “I’m sure there’s a blunt instrument that’d fit Al’s skull nicely..." He chuckled and walked away again. Think on that awhile, you yellow creep.

     “And then what?” Gooshie called out to him more steadily, “Even if you fail the leap, you might still leap out! And if you don’t, Doctor Beckett’s family won’t ever know it’s you!”

     Again, he stopped. But this time, fear and uncertainty kept him rooted there.

     “You’re not Sam Beckett.”

     That was it. Those were the words that dug the knife in and twisted it. The town over the hill seemed to shrink and vanish, leaving him in a lifeless void.

     _And the world will be better for this, that one man scorned and covered with scars, still strove with his last ounce of courage, to reach the unreachable star…_

As the song began its crescendo, Beckett wandered back toward the stage. The doddering old man was a brave knight and indeed it was Sam Beckett, and next to him the squat man was Al Calavicci. But his attention didn’t stay with the men in front, it instead focused on the woman in rags, shrinking away even compared to the battered old man in armor. And it was _him_ , it was Beckett covered in dirt and threadbare clothes, watching the Hero Sam from afar.

     He felt the hologram’s presence behind him.

      “Why do I know this?”

     Gooshie stepped closer. He was less afraid now. Was he seeing what he saw, what he really was? “This is, um, Man of la Mancha. You—I mean, Doctor Beckett—” He closed his eyes, shook his head, confused at the doubles he was presented with. “He loved the play. Maybe you’re remembering it.”

     Ah yes. Now he recalled, the bits and pieces from his other life, playing The Impossible Dream while the Imaging Chamber was being built. How Doctor Beckett saw himself as Don Quixote, but for all the wrong reasons. Yes, he _was_ Don Quixote, a man with delusions of grandeur, naïve thoughts of chivalry, an utter laughingstock. But everyone at his project saw him as the knight. Al had told him as much, when he thought he was him. And now…now Calavicci had the same childish idea, that they could somehow become Don Quixote and Sancho if they just willed it. But this was reality. As much as Beckett wanted to be the hero in armor others tried to convince him he was, all he could see was the frail old man in the mirror. He couldn’t live in a world that wasn’t real. He couldn’t be what didn’t exist.

     _He_ didn’t exist.

     He didn’t want to be Don Quixote. More than anything, he wanted to be Sam Beckett again.

\-------

     Grumbling to himself, Al squinted at his leapee’s wallet and tried to read the license in the dim light of the storefront. Mickey…something? He held it close to his face. Yeesh, maybe he needed reading glasses.

      He sure wasn’t making much progress on this leap, but he had to do something while he waited or he’d drive himself crazy thinking about Sam. He didn’t like feeling so helpless. They had absolutely nada, zip, zero, zilch information as to Sam’s whereabouts, and even if Gooshie managed to get something out of that nozzle that looked like his friend, there was no guarantee they could do anything about it. And the idea that there could be no solution at all…well, that wasn’t a possibility, so he wouldn’t think about it. They had tracked Sam down through time before, and they’d do it again. He wasn’t going to give up now just because a minor leap had gone awry. Wasn’t that business as usual with Quantum Leaping anyway? Something always went wrong and they always solved it in the eleventh hour.

     But still. What if they couldn’t find him?

     What if Sam was alone with those scumbags forever? What if Al had to leap without him, never knowing his fate? He could be anywhere in time, in space, hidden between years. Fighting as they tried to mold him into the monster Al now found himself hunting down. What kind of friend would he be if he left Sam in the battle alone?

     A pair of legs in his peripheral vision. He slowly lowered the wallet and looked up. An incensed tension filled the air and hung heavy like suffocating clouds.

     Beckett leaned on his stick just down the sidewalk, his left half illuminated by the window next to him. Both men held back their initial instincts, tried to ignore the flashes of their near death experiences and urge to take revenge. Al wasn’t sure what to do now that he had him, honestly.

     It was Beckett who spoke up first, a reluctant conviction. “We both have someone waiting for us. So let’s get them back.”


	2. Chapter 2

     Everything about this place was wrong. It was shaped like Project Quantum Leap, the home he’d fought for so many years to return to, but it held none of the warmth, the comfort. The former intimacy was twisted and rotten like an old tree ready to collapse.

     And his one anchor to reality wasn’t here.

     Something had happened at the end of the last leap. What was it…? Sam paced as he wracked his brain; the brace squeaked. Think. This was important.

     The storm! That was it! There had been a storm, and lightning. And when the other leaper was trying to leave, the electricity had surrounded them just as they were leaping out.

     Instead of following _his_ Al, he had followed this one. He was here…and the other Sam was somewhere in time with his friend.

     His eyes widened at the revelation and he sank down onto the bed. It wasn’t a leap at all. He was himself, and he and the other Sam had switched places. Which meant Al wasn’t coming, and neither was the Project. No one had any idea where he was. Honestly and truly, his only ally at this moment was the man who had tried to kill him when they first met. And this man saw him—the true him—as the enemy.

     He ran his fingers over the brace and contemplated the event that necessitated it. He didn’t know how his double had survived that fall. He shouldn’t have. But he couldn’t fool himself…as nervous as he was for Al, he was relieved the other Sam hadn’t died.

     But did that really absolve him? He heard him calling for help, but he did nothing. Was he any better simply because his victim lived? He’d killed before, but never when someone was asking for mercy. Just because he didn’t drop him didn’t mean he was innocent.

     He wasn’t sure if he could have saved both him and Al, but the fact was he didn’t try.

     He thought of the other Sam, the man who was him but had grown hooves and horns. Staring into his own eyes, he saw pools of vengeful fire. But even then, he’d attempted to get through to him more than once, prove there was still a human being inside. And before there was him, Al had been the white knight, in another time, another place. And each and every time, Beckett had failed them.

     What did that say about Sam? Were they his failures too?

     The panel by the door lit up and clicked. As the door lifted, Sam straightened up with apprehension.

     It was Calavicci. He’d forgotten he was coming. With a careful scan of the area to be sure he wasn’t caught, he snuck inside and let the door fall shut.

     Sam waited, unsure what to do. Calavicci released his breath and strode across the room anxiously. “Jeez, talk about a near miss. I wasn’t sure if the bag would buy it.”

     Putting on an expression that suggested thoughtful agreement, Sam nodded. “Right. It was close.”

     “What the hell were they doing on the leap anyway?” Calavicci growled. His mood became exasperated as his attention shifted focus to their last encounter. “Why do you suppose we keep running into those two? Is this some sort of punishment? Some Grand Poobah trying to test us or somethin’?"

     Sam was drawing a blank. He shrugged. “They probably didn’t expect to see us there either.”

     “Yeah, well we got lucky.” Calavicci sighed and rubbed the side of his face. “Shit. This could’ve ruined everything.”

     Ruined everything? So they were planning something. Something they didn’t want Project Quantum Leap to know. This piqued Sam’s interest and put him on alert. Maybe there was something to Calavicci’s theory after all and there was more to him leaping here than a freak accident.

     Trying to act casual, Sam leaned back. Wait, no. More angry. He leaned forward again. “Yeah,” he answered gruffly, “It’s a good thing we got out of there when we did. We can’t let them get in the way of the plan.” That seemed generic enough. Maybe that would prompt more.

     Calavicci’s eyes flicked toward him and he studied him carefully. Sam tensed a little. Had he already given himself away?

     His eyes hooded softly, carefully. “I know how you feel. Lord knows I wanted to bash that slime’s brain in with the bat.” He lifted a fist and squeezed it with his other hand, but he kept himself at bay and slowly lowered it. “If you’d waited any longer, Sam, I was going to.”

     Sam kept his face neutral. If only he knew he was the very person he was talking about. It was hard not to feel his own blood start to simmer.

     Calavicci looked at the floor a moment, left his finger at his temple. Centered himself. Then he said something that caught Sam off guard. “But I think pulling out was the right thing. Who knows what would’ve happened if the Director had caught wind of them? Whatever the Project’s plans are, we sure as hell aren’t gonna make it easy for them. Even if they deserve it.” He shoved his hands into his jumpsuit pockets, found the floor very interesting again as he pondered.

     Now Sam was perplexed. Their evil doppelgangers had never had any love for their bosses, but they were pretty clear that there were dire consequences for disobeying them. And why would they pull out when Sam and Al were at their grasp again, caught unaware? Before, their top priority seemed to be exacting vengeance on them.

     The other man was watching him again. Sam’s puzzlement must have been showing, because he seemed to notice something was off now. “You’re being awfully quiet. And that’s saying something considering how chatty you’ve been lately.”

     Sam frowned. Thought it over. “Is that what we’re doing now? The right thing?”

     Calavicci leaned his head back. Rubbed his neck, at a loss. “Aw hell, Sam, I don’t know.” He shrugged with his hands and let them fall heavily by his side. “I don’t know what we’re doing anymore. I mean we aren’t exactly Boy Scouts, are we? All I do know is, we couldn’t keep going like we were.” He exhaled slowly, leaning against the wall. “It doesn’t feel like much, does it?”

     Something had happened. Maybe the fall, maybe something more. But it _sounded_ like there was a change. Was Sam just being naïve again?

     This Al was different than Sam’s double. Yes, he had tried killing the normal Al too, but on the last leap he had come to Sam for help. He cared enough about the other Sam he was willing to risk everything, to ally with his sworn enemy. And it could have just been to save his partner’s life, but Sam saw something more in him at that moment. Someone struggling to find themselves, stuck between worlds. He saw his friend trying to surface.

     And by the end of the leap, with Calavicci back to his old ways and Sam leaving Beckett on the ledge, they were both on even ground.

     This was a chance for redemption.

     Sam swallowed, twisted his palms together. “Al…” It felt strange calling him that. Foreign on his tongue. “…are we good men?”

     Calavicci hitched an eyebrow. “What the hell kind of a question is that?” 

     “An honest one.”

     There was a short wait, but Sam still expected an answer. Calavicci huffed, a sliver of disbelief. “…we used to be.”

     “But not anymore?”

     He narrowed a single suspicious eye. “What’s goin' on with you, Sam?”

     Sam leaned forward, hands on his knees. “I’m being completely serious now, and I want you to give me a real answer.” His jaw firmed with conviction. “If you escaped this place right at this moment, can you honestly say you’ve changed?”

     “Oh come _on,_ Sam,” Calavicci groaned, throwing his head back, “Are we really going to do this again? I already told you my decision; I can’t make yours for you! But if you’re gonna sit here and feel sorry for yourself, I’m outta here.”

     Sam furrowed his brows. “I’m not feeling sorry for mysel—”

     A single stride and Calavicci darted toward him, finger raised along with his temper. “No, lemme you ask _you_ somethin', Sam. Are _you_ willing to change? Because I’m sick of this back and forth bullshit.” He waved his finger across himself, impassioned. “One minute you’re Mr. Goody Two Shoes, next you’re back to being their lap dog. Sometime when we’re living you’re gonna have to decide who you are, because I’m not going backwards with you!” He paused for breath, blinked. Ran his hand through his hair and turned around. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I’m not gonna stop fighting. I just wish I didn’t have to keep fighting for you too.” 

     Sam took him in, watched him carefully, a new hope breaking through. It began to dawn on him what Calavicci meant. The disappointed frustration that pleaded through his voice sounded very much like the Sam and Al that had tried to break through to Beckett so many times in the past. It was different this time. _He_ was different.

     Despite himself, Sam gave a surprised smile. “You _are_ Al.”

     Calavicci peered back, deeply confused. “The hell are you talkin’ about?”

     “You could have hurt me, but you didn’t.”

     “What?”

     “You pulled out.” Sam’s grin widened. “You didn’t just do it because you wanted to stop your project’s plans, you did it because you were protecting us!” Oh this was wonderful! Sam leaned back and chuckled. 

     Not all was lost. There was the proof in front of him.

     “ _What?”_ Calavicci’s head snapped back, staring as if he’d just grown a second head. “You’re not making any damn sense! The way you’re talking, you’re making it sound like you’re—” He cut himself off, stunned. Slowly squinted and cocked his head. No, he couldn’t be.

     Reaching across the bed and grabbing the crutch, Sam tossed it across the room. Steadily, he stood up with even weight on both legs. Met his eyes. Yes. He was exactly who he sounded like.

     The other man went pale with shock. His mouth fell open as he began to register who he was really with.

     “I’m not your Sam.”

     Sam waited for his response. Calavicci seemed unsure how to react.

     Suddenly, Sam found himself on the floor with an enraged man on top of him and both hands around his neck. With panic, he tried to pull his attacker away, but he was proving surprisingly strong.

     Well, maybe he still needed some work. 

     “You son of a bitch!” Calavicci spat, “What the fuck did you do?!”

     His arms weren’t budging, so Sam tried to choke out an answer. “W--Wait—!”

     “You’re trying to take him away from me again!”

     Oh for crying out loud! Sam hit him across the face, but he held on. He tried to grab his assailant’s neck, but he found his arm snatched by one hand and his other pinned under a knee.

     Calavicci’s eyes were wild, vicious. He didn’t seem quite so merciful at this moment. “Tell me where he is or I swear to god I’ll make sure you suffer!”

     “C—Can’t—breathe—!”

     Upon realizing he wasn’t going to get many answers this way, Calavicci thankfully released him. But the incensed man stayed on top of him, moments away from continuing his attack.

     Coughing and gasping for breath, Sam gulped and tried to speak. “I don’t…I don’t know…exactly…” he panted, “The lightning…strike…sent me here…”

     “The lightning?” Calavicci repeated, remembering the storm. Maybe he dimly recalled _something_ about a lightning strike and an asylum?

     A faded memory of his past life. The other Al and Sam trading places, the electric charge. The blinding light at the radio tower between himself and this Sam.

     God. It really _was_ him.

     Calavicci grabbed the front of his shirt threateningly. He was going to get the truth. “If it sent _you_ here, where’s _my_ Sam?”

     “With…with Al…somewhere…” Sam rubbed his throat and tried not to think of what that might mean. This whole situation was difficult to process.

     “You mean to tell me…” Calavicci said evenly, “…that Sam is out there with that lunatic, and I’m stuck here with you? Is that what you’re saying?” Sam coughed. Unable to speak, he nodded. The fury began to well up inside Calavicci again. Memories of their leap in New York began to take over.

     The clock shattering. This Sam’s cold stare before turning and running. Beckett’s regretful eyes before he slipped, plummeting in a cascade of stained glass.

     “You…You left him there. You left him to die.”

     “I know…” Sam breathed. Those same cold eyes met his once more, this time full of deep remorse.

     Calavicci pounced on him again, wrapped his fingers tighter. Pinned both hands with his knees so he could close his throat faster. Sam’s eyes grew huge as he fought for air once more. “Give him back to me! Give him back!”

     “A—Al—!” Sam couldn’t get out anything else. As his lungs burned for oxygen, his vision began to fade. The twisted face of his former friend stared down at him with murder in his eyes.

     Sam had called a lot of things wrong, but this is probably the one he regretted the most. He thought Calavicci had really turned around, but it seemed he was sorely mistaken. And with the moments of consciousness still afforded to him, he mourned the person he could have been. He wished he’d been right. He wished he’d been his friend.

     He wished Al was here.

     Then, he was breathing again. Jaggedly, his aching lungs filled with air and brought him back to life. As he wheezed on the floor, Calavicci stood up and back away.

     He saw remorse. Denial. Fear. Disgust.

     But he’d stopped himself.

     With one last look, the man silently slunk away and the door slid shut.

\-------

     “I can’t tell you where he is.”

     “Why the hell not?”

     “Because I don’t _know_ where he is.”

     This conversation had gone on two minutes and Al was already at the end of his rope. Staring down at Beckett on the rickety old bench outside the tool shop—someone who looked equally as happy to be having this conversation and yet somehow kept an irritating smugness about him—he placed his hands on his hips and forced his voice level. “Look, pal. You said something about helping us, didn’t you?”

     Beckett huffed. “I’m not doing this for you... _pal,”_ he added mockingly, “I’m doing this for myself; I just happen to need you to get that done. So don’t for one second think I’m working for you.”

     Al threw his hands up. “Fine, whatever, you’re doing it for yourself. So why are you protecting your project?”

     “ _Because I don’t know where he is,”_ Beckett gritted through his teeth, leaning forward, “They weren’t exactly forthcoming with information. I didn’t get to leave the premises very often, and when I did, I was tied and blindfolded.”

     “You mean to tell me in thirty years, you never knew where you were?” Al questioned, voice dripping with skepticism. He might be a time traveler talking to his best friend’s evil double from another history, but that was still a hard pill to swallow. “You’re full of it.”

     “Kiss my ass.”

     That’s it! Bum leg or no, he’d take him on. “I’ll shove a _foot_ up your ass, that’s what I’ll—”

     “B-But we know the date at least!” Gooshie, who had been watching uncomfortably from a safe distance, now placed himself between the leapers in an attempt to keep the peace. “If this version of Doctor Beckett showed up in my time as himself, they have to be in our present. Right?”

     A beat. Al calmed himself and nodded. “Right, that makes sense…” An idea. His jaw dropped. He stepped closer to the hologram with bated breath. “Gooshie…do you realize what this means?”

     For once, Gooshie was following his train of thought. He lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. “If we can find him…he’s home!” With a sudden fervor, he began to punch info into the handlink. “If we can narrow things _down_ to, say, a 100 mile radius, we could scan for brainwaves and find him in a few months!”

     Maybe there was an upside to this situation after all.

     Oh boy. Al rubbed the side of his face in deep thought. They had to make this work, somehow. He was quickly forgetting the plan involving Sam’s double at all. “I don’t know, Gooshie, a few months is a long time…” But would it be worth it if it meant getting Sam home?

     “Hm…well maybe if we can establish _contact_ , we can—”

     “This is crazy talk!” Beckett interrupted, throwing out his hands incredulously, “What am I, luggage? Do you plan on dragging me around time forever?” He leaned back. What a couple of bozos. “And what happens to my Al? Will you get him out too? And then what, you’ll let him go? I don’t trust you for one second!” He was getting heated at all of the turns this topic was taking. How quickly they were willing to throw them away. “Besides, do you really think your Sam stands a chance of staying undercover for a few _months_? And assuming you somehow tracked down this top secret location, how exactly do you plan on getting in? Whoever you sent would be caught, killed, or tortured, and they’d know who they really have in their facility. And something tells me you don’t want that.” 

     Though Gooshie and Al wouldn’t admit it…Beckett had a point. Maybe even a few of them. Sam’s best chance was for them to leap in. Whatever happened after that was anyone’s guess, but the most important thing was to get Sam to safety. They needed a guide and a reasonable cover.

     Either way…Sam would be home.

     But then, Al thought a little selfishly…where did that leave _him_?

     Beckett was sure he had their attention now. “I know what I’m doing and I know that place. You need me.”

     “Oh yeah, you know it _real_ well,” Al scoffed, “So well you can’t even tell us where it is.”

     “It doesn’t matter! Look, where he is is irrelevant,” Beckett insisted, closing his eyes with aggravation, “We don’t need to know. We can get in there regardless.”

     Gooshie scratched his head curiously. “How do we do that?”

     “If you can lock onto a leaper’s neurons and mesons within a certain time window, you can call them back to their previous location,” Beckett explained, leaning his elbows onto the bench’s armrest and spreading out his hands, “You miss the time window, you’re gonna be stuck for awhile. But so far...my project hasn’t missed it.”

     This information hit like a bad case of the flu. Al deflated a little. "I guess Sam and I missed our window a long time ago..." he said to himself. Why was it they always received the most useful facts regarding retrieval when it was too late to implement it? Al imagined GTFW was having a good laugh about that.

     Beckett’s eyes snapped over to Al and he continued as if there had been no interruption. “There’s no reason why we can’t use this same technique to redirect _me_ back to _my_ last location.” He leaned his head forward, waiting for him to catch his drift.

     “…which would be your project,” Al concluded, eyes wide as the gears in his mind began to turn. But he wasn’t just going to take Beckett’s word for it. He turned to Gooshie. “Could that work?”

     “Considering we’ve never had a successful retrieval…?”

     “No no no, it’s simple,” Beckett cut in, shaking his head at the slowness of everyone around him, “All you have to do is sync the Accelerator to my leap patterns and—” He stopped dead. The problem suddenly dawned on him.

     “And how exactly,” Al asked, deadpan, “do we sync _our_ Accelerator to _your_ leap patterns? Especially since you didn’t use an Accelerator to get here in the first place?”

     “…you can’t.” Beckett slumped back and stared ahead. The plan was crumbling apart.

     “Sure you can.” Both men faced the mustached programmer, who for once seemed to have the answers they didn’t. His face brightened with confidence as a blueprint began to form in his mind. “We should be able to decipher a pattern during the leap out. Given the right timing, we can sync that to the Accelerator, lock onto your mesons and neurons and…” He grinned proudly. “…yes, and redirect to the previous leap location!” He addressed Al. “Admiral Calavicci, all you have to do is make sure you’re in physical contact with Mr. Beckett, and you should follow his leap!”

     Now they were getting somewhere! If Al could hug Gooshie, he would. “This could work! Gooshie, you’re a genius!” He laughed and clapped his hands. They were on their way to getting Sam back!

     But as usual, there was the black cloud hovering over them in the form of Beckett. “There’s just one problem,” he stated smugly, “How do you plan to get us to leap out?”

     Gooshie and Al exchanged a look. Not all geniuses were smart.

     Grinning sarcastically, Al began to leave and replied, “Leaping’s the easy part, pal.”

     Beckett watched him go with confusion. “Am I missing something?”

     “He means you have to put right what once went wrong.” Gooshie bounced on his toes and, with a tight grin, he followed Al.

     Beckett’s face went slack. “You mean I have to…? Hey, wait a minute!” Scrambling for his makeshift walking stick, he forced himself up and hobbled after them.

     By the time he caught up, Gooshie was working the handlink again and keeping step with Al. Beckett tried to control his breath and pretend he wasn’t having difficulty.

     “You aren’t saying I have to finish this leap, are you?”

     “Why? Think you can’t handle it?”

     “I didn’t say that,” Beckett responded defensively, “I just don’t see the point in…you know…” He didn’t finish, unable to find a good answer.

     Al stopped at the truck, looking quite pleased at this turn of events. “Face it. If you wanna leap out, you’re gonna have to be the good guy.”

     Beckett clenched his jaw, annoyed. “You can fail and still leap.”

     “Hm, but do you really wanna risk it…?” Al questioned with patronizing worry. He’d slid inside the vehicle and started rooting through the glove compartment.

     The other leaper went into stunned silence, thankfully. Thank GTFW for small favors. With his distraction shut up for the moment, Al continued to search for clues as to who they leaped into. If they were going to rescue Sam, they needed to get to work pronto. “Gooshie, who are we?”

     While this conversation had been going, their hologram was dutifully pulling up the information. “It’s June 19, 1967, and you’re in Wakefield, Indiana. You’ve leaped into Mickey Weber, 22, and he works for…” Gooshie squinted at the screen. “…Eugene Walsh. Oh, that’s you!” he remarked to Beckett with pleasant surprise.

     Beckett’s brows twitched with recognition, but he remained quiet.

     “Mickey has been helping Eugene run a homeless shelter for a year, ever since he got him off of the streets. And Eugene…” Ziggy squawked, and Gooshie smacked the handlink. His eyebrows raised with astonishment. “Wow! This is incredible. It says here he worked on Wall Street successfully for 20 years, until one day he just quit out of the blue. He moved to the country and put all of his money into starting the shelter. Gee, that sounds like a generous guy.”

     Al’s chin disappeared in an impressed frown. “No kidding. Doesn’t sound like anyone from Wall Street _I_ know.”

     “…I remember Mr. Walsh.” Temporarily forgotten again, it was Beckett who had spoken up. He was staring into the distance reminiscently as dim memories came to him. Not faded images from the other Sam, but _his_ memories, _his_ past. “Old guy. We would see him around Elk Ridge collecting donations. Sometimes we’d go to Wakefield during his food drives. Everyone said he was a weirdo, but I loved him anyway.” The corner of his mouth turned up with uncharacteristic fondness. “…he called the shelter his castle.”

     With that grin, Al almost forgot who he was looking at. He saw a time traveling genius who grew up on a farm in Indiana, someone yearning to make their memories whole again. Somewhere not too far from here was his childhood and his innocence. Al almost felt for him.

     Almost.

     Then he remembered and began to feel spooked by the uncomfortable proximity. This guy belonged far, far away from Sam’s life. He’d done enough damage already and Sam had enough to deal with right now without having his personal history wrecked. Al cleared his throat at Gooshie, who was staring at Beckett, and tried to get back on track. “Any addresses?”

     “Oh, um...Just one.”

\-------

     Eugene Walsh’s shelter was modest and clean, about as exciting as one of these places should be. After Gooshie left to perfect their leap out calculations and figure out the timing, Al and Beckett pulled the truck up to the building to unpack for the night. As it turned out, both Eugene and Mickey had rooms there, which made keeping an eye on Al’s unintended companion a little easier. Not that he enjoyed the company much.

     “Grab that box,” Al ordered as he picked up the blankets from the back of the truck.

     “Get it yourself.”

     Ugh. This was going to be a _long_ leap. Al glared and tightened his mouth. “You wanna leap, you gotta be Eugene. _Okay_?”

     With a put upon expression, Beckett silently grabbed the box of clothes and headed inside. Al followed with lead in his feet. It was like leaping with a moody teenager.

     It was quiet this time of night, leaving them the only two awake. Al caught the door with his foot as it shut carelessly behind Beckett. “Thanks for holding that,” he seethed sarcastically.

     Setting the box on the front desk, Beckett surveyed the sparse entrance with disdain. “What a dump.”

     A creak. They looked behind them and noticed a young blonde woman sneaking in behind Al. “Oh...hi,” she said lamely.

     Hell-o. Despite the over-large clothes, Al couldn’t help but notice the knock-out hidden underneath. Beckett took note too.

     Must be one of their guests. Al checked the clock with curiosity. 1 AM. “Kinda late, isn’t it?”

     “I know, I know, the curfew…” she sighed tiredly, running her hand through her hair, “Look, Mr. Walsh knows me. He said if I ever needed someplace to stay, I could come back. Right?” She looked to Beckett to confirm her story.

     Beckett, who had no reference as to who Eugene knew and honestly didn’t care, simply assumed it was true. “Yeah, sure.”

     “See?” She lifted her hand to half-assedly greet Al. “Name’s Rose. Now that we’re all friends, I’ll get out of your way. See ya.” And with that, she slipped through the door leading to the rooms.

     Al watched her go, and not just because she had a good body, but because he found leaps often brought them together with the right people at the right time. He’d have to mention her to Gooshie when he got back. “She seems about as sociable as you. Hey, where are you going?”

     “To bed,” Beckett responded over his shoulder, halfway gone.

     “You aren’t gonna help me put these things away?”

     He received no answer.

     Expelling a short aggravated breath, Al tossed the blankets on top of the box. “You know, I’m being awful _charitable_ to you considering the things you’ve done. The least you could do is pretend to care.”

     Beckett came to a halt. Slowly shuffled around, very poorly keeping his cool. “What _I’ve_ done?” He hit his walking stick hard onto the floor. “Should I remind you that I’m helping you rescue the person who let me fall to my death? I don’t owe you anything.” 

     Al squared his shoulders and kept his poker face, an air of calm acidity about him. The admiral in him was in control. “I think you owe me plenty.”

     Beckett smirked. “Oh yeah, because I’m supposed to wear the white hat now, do what Sam Beckett would do. What a perfect model to follow.” He clomped his way toward him tauntingly. “Do you know what it feels like to crush every bone in your body while crashing into the roof of a car? To have your head split in half? To learn how to walk again and know that you’ll be in constant agony for the rest of your life? Because I do. You’re right. I owe you two.” He stopped with a knowing look, a sarcastic grin. “When we find your partner, you ask him if he felt a rush. The kind of rush you only get knowing that you had the power over life and death. Ask him if he feels like a good guy. Tell him I owe him everything.”

     With disdain, he began to make his leave again, but Al wasn’t going to let him off so easy.

     “Does Ensign Darrell Barber mean anything to you?”

     “No, should it?”

     “That’s the name of the man you shot in the head when you showed up at my project.”

     A pause. Beckett turned to face him again, less cocky now.

     Underneath Al’s collected surface was a livid contempt, a barely contained grudge as everything he’d been thinking, chewing on, turning in his stomach, came boiling over. “And while we were cleaning up the smoldering inside of our building, I had the privilege of calling Ensign Barber’s family and telling them their son died while under my watch.” His penetrating stare dug deep into the man before him, did away with all niceties and left only his true thoughts. “I don’t feel sorry for you. And don’t think you can get under my skin by telling me Sam tried to kill you, because as far as I’m concerned, if it were me, I woulda thrown you off that building.”

     He’d been holding back for too long. Beckett was fully expecting this to go like all their other leaps had gone, when Al had extended an olive branch and seen the good in him, but it wasn’t going to be that way anymore. Any and all pleasantries had to do with the necessity to solve the leap, but he was never, _ever_ going to fall for the same tricks again.

     No more pretending. Al picked up the box, shoved it behind the desk, and strode coldly past Beckett.

     Back still toward him, Beckett responded softly over his shoulder. “I didn’t kill him. Al did.”

     Al paused. The other man was silent.

     With a heavy weight on both of their shoulders, they separated.

\-------

     It struck Sam how unusually chilly this place was. It was ideal to keep sensitive equipment cool, but even then the air conditioning was on overkill. Now decked in a black jumpsuit identical to what he saw Calavicci wearing, he pulled the collar tighter and continued scrubbing the toilet. Menial work for an Observer who had failed a simple leap.

     A wince. He pulled his neck the wrong way. Gently, he massaged his bruised throat.

     Revealing his true identity had gone exceptionally poorly. He didn’t exactly expect to be welcomed with open arms, but he’d also hoped winning him over would be a little easier. Furthermore, the attack had come as a surprise considering the other Al seemed to be avoiding hurting him before. So what side was he really on?

     A clack. The mop behind him fell to the floor and he jumped.

     In case Calavicci wanted a round two, he instinctually whipped around in a defensive position. The gangly teenager raised his hands fearfully. “Don’t hurt me!”

\-------

     That had been damn close. Taking into account how careless he had been lately, Calavicci was astounded that they had gotten off so lightly after failing a leap. Not that he was complaining, mind you. He’d take the busy work. Hell, he welcomed it. Cleaning walls beat going on leaps any day.

     But he wasn’t happy. The sponge in his hand was squeezed so tightly, a small puddle began to form at his knees.

     He was more frightened than angry. Frightened that he’d never see Beckett again. Never get to touch him or tell him how much he cared. But more than that, frightened _for_ Beckett, alone out there with that…that monster. He’d just gotten him back, and now he was lost again. And worst of all, there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. Why did this have to happen?! Hadn’t they been punished enough?!

     But Beckett was smart. He could get away. He'd be free.

     …he’d gotten out.

     Without him.

     He said couldn’t survive here by himself. Oh but this was worse. He was here with the one who caused all of this, made them exist. And unlike his Sam, this was someone he _remembered_ from his other life, someone who once meant very much to him. His closest companion, eccentric genius. He knew him in both lives, someone who could rescue kittens and destroy planets. Reduce him to mush and all that sappy stuff. And he turned his back on him. Tried to take away what little he had left, and now he’d done it again. Only this time he succeeded, because now Beckett was gone.

     Calavicci had sworn, after everything that happened, he wasn’t going to be this person anymore. He wasn’t going to be the creature they made him, the monster he’d let himself transform into. No more killing, no more evil. Even if that meant more torture, he was going to drag himself slowly but surely out of hell. And so far, he’d done a pretty good job of it. He’d thought, anyway. Beckett, on the other hand…he was work. But what else was new. The point was, he _wanted_ to do good. Calavicci saw that in him. They were capable of it, if they committed. But sometimes, as with any bad habit, there were temptations.

     It had taken everything in him to pull out of that leap without drawing blood from the other Sam. But seeing him here was different. He didn’t trust him. Didn’t know him like he once thought. He’d seen what _he_ was capable of. And he saw red.

     Maybe he deserved to be here. Suffer the same way they had. Yes, this was his cosmic comeuppance. It was time to pay for his sins.

     …so why wasn’t he ratting him out?

     Son of a bitch. But Doctor Beckett looked so much like _him_.

\-------

     Transitioning out of his fighting position, Sam slowly raised his hands in peace. “I’m not going to hurt you. Honest.”

     The teenager’s eyes shifted nervously. He was young, maybe 14. Unevenly pink cheeks. He didn’t have much to his frame, but he looked even smaller in the jumpsuit that was three sizes too large for him. He tentatively held out a toilet brush. “They—They told me I was supposed to clean in here.”

     He was another prisoner, like him. And by the looks of it, he hadn’t been here long. He must be terrified.

     Sam raised his own brush. “Welcome to the club." Looking sheepish at his own joke, he smiled lopsidedly. "You bring your member’s only jacket?”

     The kid was still apprehensive, but he did chuckle just a little bit. It was a relief for Sam too, because it was the only friendly face he’d seen since arriving here.

     “Name’s Sam. What’s yours?”

     The boy licked his lips. “Uh, Kevin.” Then, hesitantly, “Are you…one of them?”

     Sam shook his head. “I’m not here by choice, if that’s what you mean.”

     Kevin nodded with acknowledgement. Swallowed, then pointed. “Did they do that to you?”

     Looking down, Sam realized he was pointing at the brace. The reminder of what really happened turned him solemn. “Uh, no.” He cleared his throat evasively. “How’d you end up in this place, Kevin?”

     “…I…I don’t know.” Kevin blinked at the terrifying memory. “I was at baseball practice and…and someone grabbed me and put me in a truck. I just got here.”

     Just as he figured. Sam kept his tone approachable and non-threatening. “Yeah, I’m kind of new around here myself.”

     But Kevin began to shake. “They told me…they want me to do bad things. Who are they?” He folded his arms, searching the room for some sort of answer. A petrified little boy who had been thrown into a terrible, dark place. “I just want to go home.”

     Sam felt for him so deeply it hurt. Setting the brush down, he crossed the room and grabbed his shoulder comfortingly. Squeaking down to his level, he knelt on the floor and met his eyes. “Kevin. It’s going to be okay. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I have experience with these sorts of things and I _promise_ I’m going to get you back home.”

     Kevin sniffled and put on a brave face. Sam must know what he was talking about. He was the grown-up, after all.

     “Atta boy. Now look, if we’re going to get out of here, I’m going to need your help. Do you remember anything about the drive here? Do you know where we are?”

     “No. They put a blindfold on me.”

     Great. Sam pursed his lips and hid his discouragement.

     Now Kevin was reliving the terrible memory. “…I remember coming in on…on the first floor. They took me through the front. And we went past…some offices I think. And a big room with some cables.”

     At this, Sam abruptly lifted his head and furrowed his brows in thought. A small grin crept up. “Just like Project Quantum Leap…”

     “Like what?”

     Sam’s smile widened proudly. “Kevin…you’ve been a big help.”

     “I don’t believe this is a social hour.” In the doorway stood Zoey, gaze as sharp as her jeweled shoulder pads. How much had she heard?

     Wary of how to act, Sam carefully stood up but kept his hands on Kevin’s shoulders protectively. _It will be okay._

     Apparently, this was very amusing to Zoey. She addressed the teenager. “You. Boy. Go clean down in Section 9.”

     Wordlessly, Kevin fumbled some cleaning supplies into his hands and left. Sam watched him go, wanting to extend further reassurance but being frustratingly unable to do so.

     “Oh Samuel…” Zoey strode lackadaisically toward him, playing with a pen in her hand. “I must say, I quite enjoy seeing your _spunk_ return. You’ve been so dreadfully boring lately.” A wry smile. “The spark makes the fight that much more challenging.”

     Making sure to pretend to limp, Sam made his way back to the toilet and grabbed his brush. How would the other Sam act? Don’t get too confident. But don’t be a pushover. “Is there a reason you came here?”

     “Do I need a reason to visit one of my favorite playthings?” Zoey asked not-so-innocently, leaning against the stall and shamelessly checking out his backside. She looked up as if a thought had just occurred to her. “Although, if I _were_ here on business, I might advise you to be mindful of the pitfalls of getting too attached to new recruits.”

     Sam briefly paused his scrubbing, but didn’t show his worry. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

     “Oh, you know how things are. People come and go.” Zoey lifted her shoulders and playfully waved the thought away. “Who knows? He could turn out like Caroline Lane.”

     “Who?”

     There was no answer.

     Sam’s blood went cold as he realized he must have made a costly error. This was someone the other Sam knew. For a moment there was nothing said, but he could feel her stare boring into him. Did she know? How was he going to cover this up? If he was found out, what did he have to defend himself? He gripped the toilet brush—his only weapon—and thought of how pitiful it was.

     A voice broke the tension.

     “Exactly. You’ve gotta get some new material.” It was Calavicci. He was in the doorway now, looking irritated. Sam was shocked. “That one’s old news, Zoey.”

     Not a bad save for someone who had been strangling him the night before. The only thing Sam was sure of was that he always kept him wondering.

     Zoey shifted from suspicion back to her dry, unconcerned facade. Unknown to her, Sam sagged with relief behind her. "I didn't realize I was getting so rusty, but we can always make new memories…can’t we?”

     There was a clear threat behind her words. Calavicci was used to it, but he wasn’t stupid. He kept his mouth shut and didn’t press. Raising his bucket, he asked, “Where do you want me?”

     “I think we can find somewhere dank and dark for you to be…” Zoey mused. With another warning look toward Sam, she strode out of the bathroom.

     In the brief moments before Calavicci followed her, he and Sam were alone. Sam had a lot of questions, but nothing that could be answered right now.

     The doorway was empty.


	3. Chapter 3

     As per Eugene’s schedule in the office, they were having another food and clothing drive at the town hall. The large conference room had been cleared out and filled with long tables and fold-out chairs. Several shelter residents were helping run things, taking boxes and folding clothes, as people from town milled in and out while socializing. This was a monthly event and a lot of them liked to come simply to see their friends; a happy routine.

     Notably, however, the one change was the downplayed presence of their normally boisterous ringleader. Eugene Walsh kept unusually to himself, ruminating. Mindlessly sorting through boxes and responding to friendly greetings with his usual script.

     Beckett wondered what he was doing here. Honestly, did it matter if he helped some crazy old man collect blankets for homeless people? It seemed so utterly unimportant. Right now, just the next town over, there was his family. There was everything he’d been torn away from, the last place he’d been truly happy. He shouldn’t be here, he should be racing to them. Didn’t he deserve it, after all? Hadn’t he been through enough?

     But then there was Calavicci. And there was Sam.

     Sam Beckett wasn’t real. Not the Sam Beckett he’d been presented with anyway. He was an ideal, an impossible dream. But…Beckett wanted him to exist. Because if Sam Beckett did, then so could he.

     He existed, but he didn’t exist. No matter how he tried, things remained the same. He was the same. The realization came after his accident, this hollow emptiness, the destruction of any dream or desire. And Sam Beckett had destroyed it. So then why was he bothering with any of this?

     Because Calavicci had brought it back. They were someone, once. And Beckett felt it when he was with him. For some reason, Al Calavicci in any form brought out that ridiculous white knight within him, inspired him to be more. The man saw inside him like no one else did, like he could never see in himself. He couldn’t say what he was now, but the yearning in his heart told him he _could_ be someone again.

     He’d been so blinded before, couldn’t see what his hatred was doing to him. But still Calavicci was there, dragging him kicking and screaming into the dimmest light. He owed him too much to leave him behind. And selfishly, he knew he couldn’t do this without him. He needed him.

     He needed him to be alright.

     “Hello? Is your hearing going?” It was Rose. She was holding a bag up impatiently.

     “Huh?” he answered, still readjusting to the real world.

     “I asked where you wanted this?”

     “Oh…uh, just add it to the pile.” He jerked his head toward a growing heap behind the table.

     “ _Thanks_.” She was barely polite. Finally having gotten her answer, she chucked it over and headed off.

     Just on the edge of his (still young and accurate) hearing, he overheard her as she was approached by a beehived brunette. She looked different than the usual crowd of one-horse towners in here, and with her expensive jacket she didn’t look like one of the shelter residents either.

     “You ready to go?”

     “Yeah, just a minute. I kinda have to…do this if I wanna stay here. Sorry, old guy’s orders.”

     “You know you don’t _have_ to,” the brunette hinted, leaning in, “Our offer still stands.”

     Rose stopped with another bag in-hand, gaze swiveling around her nervously. Her eyes landed on Beckett, who ducked his head and pretended he wasn’t listening. More discretely, “Meet me outside in ten, okay? I’m not gonna do this here.”

     The brunette laughed, finally having worn her down. “You got it. See you out there, hot stuff.”

     Beckett listened to them separate and considered what that could mean. He might not be used to leaping in to put things right, but he knew a clue when he heard one. What were they up to? He knew there was something wrong with that Rose chick.

     “Here you go, Mr. Walsh.”

     Another box, another sickly saccharine greeting. Beckett tried to casually brush them off. “Yeah, thank—” He caught sight of who was in front of him just as he was leaving. His eyes widened and he stood up.

     It was a young Sam Beckett, age 13. Bright-eyed and still full of possibility. He was so young. And happy. And he was _him._

He was still innocent.

     "Wait! Uh--Sam."

“Yes?”

     For a moment, Beckett couldn’t find the words. He had to remind himself to breathe. Using the crutch they’d found with the medical supplies at the shelter, he hobbled around the table to get closer. But then he stopped.

     What the hell do you say to your 13-year-old self? He just wanted to hold him, keep him safe, tell him how lucky he was. Order him to never let go of that person inside. Tell him everything he’d been through and would never wish upon him. But instead, he was speechless.

     “Are you okay, Mr. Walsh?”

     “Oh—Yes,” Beckett stammered, finally getting a hold of himself. Lamely, “I, uh, I just wanted to say…how nice it is to see you.”

     Young Sam smiled widely, that goofy Beckett grin. “Same to you, sir.” He just remembered something. “Oh yeah, and Mom promises to bring some of her famous peach jam next time. She had to stay home with Katie today; she’s had a cold.”

     Katie. The air left him wistfully. “Oh…I’m sorry to hear that.” 

     “It’s alright. She should be better in a few days.”

     “And Da—your father?” His father. His father was still alive and he was here, somewhere.

     “He doesn’t want to get sick,” Sam joked, “He says _someone_ has to take care of the farm. We just wanted to make sure to do our part before we got back.”

     “Sam! We’ve got to get goin’!”

     Beckett’s heart shot into his throat. He knew that voice. As he controlled his rapid breathing, he searched desperately through the crowd until he saw him.

     He was hidden, just the brim of a hat. But he was his father. Tom had been returned to him, but his father still left his world in 1974. And now he was here again, a precious gift just barely out of his reach. His muscles ached to go to him. Have him be told his journey was done and he was safe.

     Couldn’t he be done? Couldn’t he rest awhile?

     “Sorry, I have to leave,” young Sam apologized, “I’ll see you again soon!”

     “Sam.”

     “Yeah?”

     Beckett swallowed the lump in his throat. “Take care of your father for me.”

     Another wide smile. The corners of young Sam’s eyes crinkled. “Yes, sir.” With a wave, he darted with a teenager’s energy toward his father across the room.

     Along the way, Sam bumped into an annoyed Al.

     “Excuse me!”

     “Hey, watch where—” Al halted his steps, did a double take. “What the--? Wait a minute, that wasn’t…?”

     He cast a wary look at Beckett, but as far as the other man was concerned he might as well not be there.

     He was too lost in his head, watching his young self as his father clapped him on the back and led him away. Three of him now. The boy he was, the man he became, and the person he could never be. Tears that threatened to expose him blurred his vision.

     _Clunk-shoom._

Al was just starting to follow the young Sam when Gooshie’s voice piped up. “Admiral Calavicci!” Gooshie took in his surroundings, dodged a passerby as habit. Stay out of the way and don’t cause trouble. “Gee…it sure is busy around here.”

     “That was…” Al trailed off and watched the younger Sam disappear. Casting an askew glance at Beckett, he saw the longing contemplation even after the boy was out of sight.

     There was no reason to follow him or go further into it.

     He saw Gooshie waiting questioningly. “Uh, never mind. Do you have any information for us?”

     “I do, as a matter of fact,” Gooshie answered, pulling the handlink out, “That’s why I came here. Ziggy believes she’s calculated your reason for leaping in.” The handlink blinked and popped. “According to her, there’s an 87.9% chance you two are here to help a woman named Sally Hatcher. She goes by the name Rose.”

     This got Beckett’s attention. “Rose. We met a Rose.”

     Bingo. Al knew it. He felt a bit of self-satisfaction at his natural instincts. He was getting better at this.

     “Yeah, she’s been staying at the shelter under an assumed name in and out for four years. But in three days…she’s going to jail for murder.”

     Beckett knit his brows, perplexed. “She doesn’t seem like a killer to me.” He would know. He didn’t see it in her eyes.

     “Yeah, well, looks can be deceiving,” Al shot back at him pointedly. His mouth tightened. “Of course it was murder. It’s never for something simple like a robbery, is it?”

     “Oh, it’s that too.”

     “Huh?”

     “It’s a hold-up gone wrong,” Gooshie explained, lifting up the handlink as if they could read it, “Sally gets involved with a gang of women called Fran’s Foxes. When they attempt to pull off a small-time robbery, Sally accidentally shoots someone named…” He checked the handlink. “…Annette Fisher, with a stray bullet. The other women take off, and Sally takes all of the blame.”

     “They sound like great friends,” Al commented dryly, “I’ve had a few fantasies about girl gangs, but this isn’t exactly what I’d pictured…”

     “This is all very interesting," Beckett remarked with sarcasm. He didn’t have the patience for Al’s sidetracking no matter which one he was talking to, but he was especially uninterested now. Besides, the faster they knew specifics, the faster they would leave. “Where do we need to be and at what time?”

“Er, well…” Gooshie clasped the block of fruit chews evasively. “We don’t exactly…have specifics yet.”

     “Gooshie!” Al jumped in before Beckett even had time to open his mouth; he was always the first to complain when Gooshie inevitably fell short with the information. Is this really how he sounded all those years to Sam? It was driving him up the wall.

     “Wakefield doesn’t keep the most orderly records! We’re still sorting through things.” Gooshie shrugged apologetically. “Sorry. I’d speed things up if I could, but we’re going through an inspection at the moment.”

     “ _Another_ one?” Al snapped with disbelief. Unreal. “Weitzman is ridiculous! How can we possibly be expected to get anything done with him and his toadies breathing down our necks all the time?" He placed his hands on his hips and shook his head. "You know, it’s just like him to be forty years away and still be a pain in my ass.”

     “Tell me about it.” Gooshie sighed, bug-eyed, a rare display of exasperation. “He’s worse in person.”

     “Is this how your project normally runs things?” Beckett asked derisively, scrunching up his face, “Unbelievable. How were we never able to stop you?”

     “Guess that says a lot about your project, doesn’t it?” Al sneered.

     Gooshie perked up and listened to something unheard. “Oh. Speaking of the inspection, I’d better go. Are you going to be alright?” Notably, he only addressed Al.

     “Yeah. Tell Weitzman to stick it where the sun don’t shine.”

     As the door to the imaging chamber opened, Gooshie squinted in thought. “Mm, maybe not in so many words.” He returned Al’s grin, pleased that for once he was able to say something that amused him. “I’ll be back.”

     The door shut.

\-------

     “Fran.” Rose stepped out back and approached the beehive brunette, who was flanked by three other girls in jackets and having a smoke by their bikes. “I’m ready to go now.”

     Fran smirked and stamped out her cigarette with her heel. “What’s your hurry, Rose? We still haven’t heard what you think of our offer.”

     Rose stuffed her hands into her pockets and shrugged. “Jeez, I dunno…” She sighed. “Look, I appreciate you helping me out with money, but I’m not sure I wanna join up. I might not stay in town very long.”

     Two of the girls sniggered. The third, a shrimpy girl with short-cropped hair, kept her head low.

     Fran knew she was in charge. “C’mon, girl. Where are you gonna go?” She sidled up next to her, placing her hands firmly on her shoulders, “You’ve got no one else. Nobody wants you. ‘Cept us. Don’t we take care of you?”

     Relenting, Rose agreed with a small smile. “Yeah…I guess. I just don’t know if I fit in...with your lifestyle.”

     “Of course you do!” Fran chuckled and jerked her thumbs back at the other girls. “Hell, if Annette can fit in, so can you.”

     The smaller girl, Annette, shrunk even smaller if it was possible. Finding this very funny, the other two nudged her and leaned in tauntingly.

     “Isn’t that right, Annette?”

     “Little fraidy cat Annette!”

     Rose didn’t laugh, but she said nothing about it. Again, she shrugged. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

     Fran puckered her lips, disappointed. “Okay, Rosie…but don’t think too long.” Rose nodded and started to go. “Hey Rose? Catch.” She tossed her something.

     Rose looked down at the small packet of cocaine.

     “Consider that a gift.”

     She hated herself, but she wanted it. With a grateful grin, she shoved it into her pocket. “We going to the bar or what?”

\-------

     With a little bit of time, a hidden fork, and a pried open data pad, Sam was easily able to figure out how to slink out of his quarters undetected. It wasn’t very different from the pads at Project Quantum Leap; as it happened, this all factored into his slowly solidifying escape plan. The hard part, however, was sneaking past the guards, returning to where he’d seen Calavicci disappear earlier, and convincing him to help. But, considering how things had unfolded earlier, he had a feeling Calavicci was not as unwilling of an ally as it had seemed.

     He pieced the pad back together, entered the code, and watched the door slide up. Here goes.

     From the looks of it, Calavicci hadn’t been expecting any visitors. As Sam entered, he stood cautiously near the back wall. “It took you a day and a half to figure out how to sneak around here? I thought you were supposed to be a genius.”

     “I might be slow on the uptake, but I won’t forget," Sam responded with a friendly tone, "I have a very good memory.” On second thought, “…usually,” he added with an embarrassed grin.

     Silence.

     “Um…nice place you got here.” Sam surveyed the room and bounced up on his feet. It was as empty and lifeless as his own room.

     Calavicci wasn’t playing along. “What do you want?”

     Okay, it was straight to business. Sam bobbed his head and twisted his palms together. “I…well, I wanted to thank you for helping me back there.”

     A snide smirk. “Word of advice, kid: don’t thank anyone until you know what they want.” Calavicci leaned in knowingly. “And someone _always_ has another motive.”

     “Okay.” Sam clasped his arms in front of him seriously. “Then what’s yours?”

     “You answer my questions and I’ll answer you.”

     So it was a bargaining chip. Sam was mindful of what information he should give this Al, but given he’d kept him secret at risk to himself, it seemed only fair. Besides, the more he knew what Calavicci wanted, the better he could discern how to move forward. “Alright.”

     Calavicci stared him down, stony-faced, making it clear that just because he helped him that didn’t make them friends. “Are you telling the truth? Did you end up here by accident?”

     “Yes.”

     “And there’s no secret scheme?”

     “No.”

     “So you’re stuck here…just like me?”

     “For the moment.”

     Calavicci mulled over the answers, decided if he believed them. He did. Scratching the back of his head, his hard exterior seemed to fade into an uncomfortable nervousness. When he met Sam’s eyes again, he could see an alien vulnerability. Softly, “Is…is he safe?”

     Beckett. He wanted to know about Beckett.

     Taken aback by the unusual fear in the other man’s voice, Sam furrowed his brows. “I…I think so. Al wouldn’t hurt him, if that’s what you mean.”

     “You did.”

     Sam lowered his head, caught in his shame. “You’re right. But Al wouldn’t. Not if he didn’t have to.”

     “Did you have to?”

     A pause. Sam lifted his shoulders. “I don’t know...but I guess it doesn’t matter. You and I both know I could have tried to help him and I didn’t.” He was lost in the memory for a moment. The face of the other Al, the face of his best friend, dissolved into view. “It was wrong. I’m sorry.”

     The man across from him didn’t respond, but his expression told him that the apology meant something. Of course not enough to make up for it (what could?) but enough to touch him.

     Striding across the room, he wagged his finger lazily at Sam’s throat. “That bruising should go away in a few days.” He sat on the floor, using the bed to support his back.

     Following suit, Sam crossed over and sat against the wall. “Your turn. Why did you cover for me?”

     Reaching back under the mattress, Calavicci pulled out a cigarette and lit it. “Because the Director has plans, and I don’t want him to get what he wants.”

      “You mentioned that before.” Sam furrowed his brows with concern. “What plan? Something to do with me and Al?”

     “Mm.” Blowing out a puff of smoke, Calavicci shook his head. “No, something to do with you. For some reason, it’s just you.”

     “Me? Why me?”

     “Do I look like someone in the good graces of the higher ups?” Calavicci pulled on the collar of his wrinkled, dirty jumpsuit. “I dunno. All I do know is, they put out a strict no-kill order. Trust me, neither of us want them knowing that you’re here.”

     Sam thought this over, trying not to show his uneasiness. Whatever these plans were, they had been in motion for a long time. They had to want information, something about the Project that only he knew. Question was, what were they going to do with that information once they obtained it?

     “For what it’s worth…I’m sorry too.”

     Sam looked up with surprise. Calavicci was contemplating his cigarette.

     “We both…lost sight of who we were. And now we’re just trying to survive here. _Were_ …” Calavicci pursed his lips, upset and furious with himself, as he remembered that Beckett was gone.

     “Al…” Sam licked his lips and bent closer, eager to share his idea. “We can get out. Then we can find my project and figure out where the other you and me are.”

     Calavicci hissed dubiously and fell against the bed. “Yeah, right, pal. Good luck with that.”

     “I’m being serious! I know how to get out of here, but I’ll need your help.”

     “Do you know how many times we’ve tried?” Calavicci asked, head cocked and eye slit. This wasn't an unexpected topic of conversation, a fact made obvious by his jaded demeanor. “I know you’re new around here, but trust me when I say the consequences are pretty damn dire. Whatever plan you think you have, believe me, it’s been done.”

     “Oh yeah? Well who else do you know who built a nearly identical project and parallel hybrid supercomputer?” Sam was practically beaming. "Al...my memory's coming back. I'm not on a leap anymore. I know my project like the back of my hand, and I bet I know this place."

     Calavicci’s skeptic look faded as he glanced sideways at Sam, who was grinning ear to ear. The enthusiastic scientist rubbed his knees with excitement. He had something.

     “We can do it,” Sam stated confidently, “You, me, and Kevin.”

     “Kevin? Who the hell is Kevin?”

     “He’s a new recruit. I met him yesterday.”

     “Oh good, the cavalry’s here…” Calavicci responded dryly, rolling his eyes.

     “No, trust me, this will work.” Sam shifted to a more comfortable position, propping up his knee. “The layout here is almost exactly the same as my project, and that’s going to be our advantage. It was built from the same technology, which means I know it just as well as your Director does. I can get into Lothos.”

     For once, Calavicci seemed to be reluctantly opening up to the possibilities. “…and what does that give us?”

     “Without the access numbers I can’t get the full capabilities, but there is a backdoor code that will allow me to reboot the system. While the computer is restarting, that leaves us a temporary window where everything she controls can be manually overridden.” Sam raised his eyebrows. “Like, for instance, unlocking the exit.”

     Calavicci blinked, scared that this was starting to make sense. “Could that…could that work?”

     “Absolutely,” Sam answered happily. But he reluctantly leaned sideways and pressed his lips together. “Except…there’s just one small problem.”

     “…of course there is.” Calavicci deflated. It was always too good to be true.

     Sam rolled his hands one over the other. “See, the Control Room is on the third floor, and the closest exit is on the first. There’s not enough time to get there and unlock it before the computer comes back online.” Then he smiled again, reeling him back. “But that’s where you come in. If you’re at the doors the same time I restart the computer, you can get it open.”

     Calavicci bit his lip. Dare he trust him? His scars reminded him of all the times he’d tried to leave before. But this Sam seemed so _convincing._ “This is damn stupid…” He closed his eyes, frustrated at himself. This was more than just for him; it was for Beckett. Didn’t he say they would get out? “But say I _did,_ maybe…go along with it. We’re not bringing Kevin.”

     “No deal.”

     “It’s dangerous enough as it is. A third person is a liability.”

     “I made him a promise,” Sam said firmly, “I said I’d get him out, and I’m going to.” Calavicci sighed and slumped back. He didn’t like the sound of this third wheel one bit. Sam spoke softer, appealing to the human side he knew he had. “Come on. He’s just a kid.”

     That hit Calavicci harder than he expected. While he had been brought here later in life, Beckett had told him stories about when he was taken. A frightened teenager, still hopeful about his future, slowly being killed and transformed into someone he didn’t know anymore.

     He wouldn’t be responsible for creating another monster. He and this Doctor Sam had both made promises.

     “…okay,” he sighed, “Okay. He comes too. _But I’m not babysitting him_.”

     Sam couldn’t stop grinning. They were getting out.

     Calavicci fought the ever-growing pit in his stomach that told him this was going to be the last mistake he ever made.

\-------

     It was late. The drive had ended and the conference room had been mostly cleared out, which left Al, Beckett, and the shelter residents to pack boxes into trucks. While the leapers had a mission now, they were keeping to themselves again. To no one's shock, they didn’t like each other any more than when they’d started this leap.

     Mickey might have been in his 20s, but Al wasn’t quite built for carrying boxes around anymore. Yeesh, this was gonna mess with his back. He dropped some of the last packages into the truck and slumped against the building.

     He thought about Rose. They hadn’t had an extensive interaction, but she seemed like a good enough kid--underneath anyway. She reminded him of himself when he was younger, truth be told. He didn’t have a great attitude or a home for much of his young life; he was in the orphanage, then in the military, and then out on his own. He'd spent a lot of time on the streets during his many trips away from the orphanage; he'd had some great highs and great lows. And a lot of the people he’d met seemed pretty scary until he got to know them. Rose'd had some difficult times, but that didn’t make her a bad person.

     And one small mistake was going to ruin her life. Well, maybe not a _small_ mistake. It would be big for Annette and the people she cared about. But it would be a minuscule portion of time that would send Rose down a path she wasn’t likely to recover from.

     He’d killed before. During war. It didn’t really matter how it came about though. It messed with your head. He knew.

     Changed smart kids with bright futures into bloodsucking gargoyles that looked like your best friend.

     Sam's younger self had been here, and thank god he’d gotten out. This leap was complicated enough without the timeline getting mucked up with evil doubles. But still. It reminded Al that the Sam here with him _wasn’t_ Sam. And the real one was lost god knows where thinking god knows what. That place had turned the other Sam into something corrupt and black like tar. It had power, and his Sam was right in the heart of it. In other words, it was a Bad place to be.

     And Al missed him.

     “Yoohoo! Oh Mickey!”

     He was pushed out of his contemplation by two overly-cheery, heavyset visitors. He hadn’t seen them before; they were too well-dressed to be from this farming town. Judging by their similar faces, they were related in some way.

     The woman was the one who had called out. “How lovely to see you. Duncan and I were hoping we’d be able to catch you before you left.”

     “Uh, yeah…same to you,” Al lied.

     “You look well,” Duncan commented, “Much better than the last time we saw you. Our father has treated you well.”

     A slightly backhanded compliment, but helpful. These must be Eugene’s kids. That gave him something to go on. “Thanks. He’s inside if you’re looking for him.”

     “Actually…” The women leaned in secretively, slightly less cheery now. “…we were hoping to talk to you alone.”

     “Janey…”

     “There’s no sense in dancing around it," she answered defensively. She leaned in even closer to Al, stooping as if he was very small. And compared to her, he was. “Mickey. Have you ever considered…taking over the business, as it were?”

     “Ah…” Al was thrown for a loop, not sure what direction to take here. He decided to fudge the truth a bit. “Well, um…I can’t say that _I_ have.”

     Duncan and Janey exchanged a sad, knowing look.

     “How can we be delicate about this…?” Duncan took off his hat and fidgeted with the brim. “Truth be told, we’ve been very worried about our father. And there were some… _rumors_ flying about today.”

     Al raised a dubious eyebrow. Underneath their words seemed not-so-well-meaning intentions.

     “About his health,” Janey added. There was an air of scandal. “That he was seen wandering the street in a state of confusion. That he was hit by a _car_.”

     “We’re just not sure if he’s capable of the kind of responsibility it takes to run the shelter any more.”

     “Funny, because I feel 30 years younger today.” In the doorway stood Beckett, as tall as he could make himself. When he moved, it was the smoothest gait Al had seen from him, even while using the crutch. He was determined, focused. “And I’m interested to know why you’re having this conversation without me.”

     Both daughter and son looked extremely put out. This was not the first time this had come up. “You need to retire, Father,” Duncan sighed, “Everyone can see it. Your mind isn’t what it used to be.”

     “Why?” Beckett asked casually, lifting a shoulder, “Because everyone thought I was a lunatic for moving here and giving away all of my money? Telling stories about knights and castles? I’ve got a pretty good idea of what people have said about me.” And he did. He remembered the gossips around town, the people who didn’t find him or his stories quite so eccentric or likable. But he also remembered the people who thought of him as a local hero…people like him. “It’s not crazy to want people to be better.”

     Al was watching him closely now. Was he saying this as part of the leap, or was there something more to it?

     Janey got closer to Beckett, holding his shoulder with false compassion. “We’re only thinking of your well-being, Father.”

     Beckett smiled, playing along. “I think I’m okay.” Gently pulling away, he made his way to the passenger side of the truck and opened the door. He craned his head back toward Al. “Are we going?”

     Al looked at the disbelieving children next to him with a little bit of smug satisfaction. “Yeah. I think we’re done here.”

     He got into the vehicle and they took off. Janey and Ducan were not happy.

     “He’s going to spend all of our inheritance before he croaks,” Janey hissed from the side of her mouth, “We have to stop him _now_.”

     “I agree. And this conversation just proved what we were thinking all along…” Duncan said with a hint, “His mind _has_ begun to rapidly deteriorate. Don’t you think?”

     She caught his drift, “I’m afraid so. We’ll have to take matters into our own hands.”

     Their delightful plan was coming together.

\-------

     This was not the plan.

     Not the plan Calavicci had envisioned anyway. He wasn’t sure what it was going to be, but never in a million years, out of all the scenarios he’d played out in his mind, had this been a passing thought. To think he was entrusting his life to…to that _jackal._ That he was trying to accomplish what he’d wanted for so long with the last person he ever wanted to see.

     It should have been Him. Hadn’t he been the one to convince Beckett that there was hope for them, that if Alia could do it so could they? That the choice to destroy their souls was theirs alone. And he believed that, he truly did, that they could become better. And they were going to do it _together_. But now time had cruelly pushed them apart again. Beckett wasn’t free, just subject to a different project’s rules. He had to save him.

     But he had to admit. This might work.

     Of course, he wasn’t thrilled with having a squirrelly kid attached to his hip. Hiding from guards, walking across glass, he could handle no problem. But this was too much.

     “Why does he have to come with me?” Calavicci complained quietly. They peered around the corner.

     Arms folded around Kevin, Sam held him back and out of sight until the guards passed. They held their breath. It was safe. They started around. “Because he can show you where to go.” 

     “I _know_ where to go.”

     “In case you get lost.”

     “I have an _excellent_ memory.”

     Sam jerked to a halt, his patience being tested. Putting on a calm face, he addressed Kevin. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.” Kevin nodded bravely. With a comforting grin, Sam turned and grabbed Calavicci, stepping out of earshot. “I need you to take him, okay?”

     “Why?”

     “Because I don’t want him in the Control Room with me.”

     Calavicci snorted. "Because you don’t want some distraction around you either.”

     “In case something goes wrong and I can’t make it to the exit.”

     That gave Calavicci pause. A sobering thought. It occurred to him just how much more of a risk Sam was taking. He was at ground zero and they were starting at the finish line. “What happens then? If you get caught before you can catch up to us?”

     Sam’s mouth became a thin line. “Go on without me.”

     He said it with such conviction, he had to believe it was real. And only one other person had cared about Calavicci like that. It was alien to him. It was…so very Sam Beckett.

     Calavicci inclined his head in agreement. Just before Sam was ready to go, he clasped his shoulder to stop him. “Uh, Sam…good luck.”

     Sam smirked. “You too.”

     Kevin was visibly relieved when Sam returned. As the only warm thing he'd seen since arriving, he'd really come to depend on him. “Sam.”

     “Come on, kid,” Calavicci said, motioning him closer, “You’re with me.”

     “No!” Kevin grabbed Sam tightly, his fingers digging into him, “No, please don’t leave me. I want to go with you.”

     This wasn't a leap, but it didn't matter. As far as Sam was concerned, Kevin was someone in need and he was going to help him. He could have been his child or brother or student and before the leap was over, he was going to correct the mistake history had made by bringing him here. He was going to make it okay again.

     “Kevin…” Gently, Sam pulled his hands away and kneeled next to him. “I have to do this alone, but I promise I’m coming back. There’s no reason to be scared. Al will take care of you.” Dubiously, Kevin glanced over at Calavicci and sized him up. “I trust him.”

     Calavicci’s chest tightened at the statement. He didn’t want to know if he meant it. "Yeah,” he said in a caring voice that was uncomfortable and felt like gravel in his throat, “I’ll, uh…I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

     Tentatively, he held out his hand.

     Kevin, just as nervous, decided to trust him too. As he took his hand, Calavicci saw Sam give him a look of gratitude from over his shoulder. Calavicci wordlessly indicated that he should go.

     And Sam was gone. Calavicci led the kid away.

\-------

     “How…how long have _you_ been here?” Eventually, Kevin felt confident enough to speak to the second strange man he had to entrust with his safety.

     “A lot longer than you.”

     “Oh," Kevin said quietly. He ran his fingers across the wall nervously. "Your family must miss you.”

     Eyes peeled for trouble, an uncomfortable Calavicci glanced at him sideways. "…I, uh, I don’t have a family.”

     “None?”

     Jeez, was he gonna keep asking so many damn questions? “No. Now keep it down.”

     “Oh.” Kevin lowered his volume and shuffled closer. Kid wasn't taking the hint. "Well then where are you going to go to when you get out?”

     Again, Calavicci was finding these questions difficult to answer. He blinked rapidly and rolled his shoulders. “A…friend. I’m going to find my friend.”

     “What’s his name?”

     “What’s with you?” Calavicci griped, “We couldn’t get one word outta ya and all of a sudden you’ve got a million questions.”

     “Sorry.”

     He shouldn’t have looked. The sad eyes, the despondent face. It was like a puppy dog or something else equally disgusting.

     A sigh. “Sam. His name is Sam.”

     “Another Sam?”

     “Yeah. Another Sam.” Calavicci stopped, made sure the hall was empty. Coast clear. “I made a promise that I’d always come back to him...and I plan to keep my word this time.”

     Kevin was silent again for a little bit. “Maybe you and Sam and…Sam, can visit me sometime.” He shrugged noncommittally. “I mean, if my parents say it’s okay.”

     Calavicci stopped again, not completely. Just a roll. It was such an innocent thing to say. This kid really was far from home in a place like this. 

     It did bring to mind the question he’d never dared to think about. What would life be like after this? It just occurred to him how close he might be to having one.

     Despite himself, he gave a small smile. “Maybe, Kevin. I’ll ask Sam when I find him.”

     Kevin smiled back. He liked this old guy.

\-------

     The Control Room was dark, dotted with sparks of scarlet light emanating from the low-powered computer panels. Sam knew it would be like this. Late at night, minimal staff. No reason to waste energy except on necessary functions. It’s what he was counting on.

     The door slid shut. In the shadows he could make out the forms of what he’d seen when he first appeared here, what mimicked his own creation: a blocky control panel, a large, crimson sphere domineering over the room. He felt its eyes watching him. The part of him that wasn't terrified was awestruck by the duplication of such complex technology, _his_ technology. In the back of his mind, he wondered how such a thing came to be.

     The urgency of the situation wasn’t lost on him, but he felt he had to move as if the floor were booby trapped. If Lothos was like Ziggy, she wasn't easily fooled. Slowly but surely, he made it to the panel and got to work.

     He had time, he reminded himself. There was a chance—a small chance—that when he restarted the system, he might be caught along the way to meet with Calavicci and Kevin, but he tried to think positive. He would be careful. He hadn’t made it this far to fail now. Besides…no matter what GTFW had put him through, he always made it out just in the nick of time.

     The giant ball began to glow ominously. “Samuel…you’re being a very naughty boy.”

     Sam smirked and kept working. “Hello, Lothos.”

     “I must commend you for getting this far into my systems. Very advanced for such a small mind.”

     “Thank you. Has anyone ever told you that you’ve got great coding?”

     “Ooh, I love it when you talk dirty..." she purred, “Unfortunately, now I have to contact your superiors and you’ll be severely punished.” A pause for thought. “Shame. I quite like your packaging.”

     “Oh, I don’t think so, Lothos,” Sam said with satisfaction, leaning against the panel. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say she was taken aback. “You see, I just restricted your signal to this room. Nothing gets in, nothing gets out.” He chuckled, cracking open one of the blocks on the control panel to begin the reboot. “You’re pretty advanced, Lothos…but I’m pretty advanced too.”

     “Hm. I wouldn’t be so sure.”

     She was cocky, another trait she shared with Ziggy. Sam rolled his eyes. “What’re you going to do? Yell through the door?”

     The lights came up. “I can hear her just fine from here, Samuel.”

     Sam’s heart sank. His adrenaline pumped so hard it pounded in his ears.

     The guards closed in on either side as he pivoted around to face Zoey. How would she have had time to figure out anything was wrong? What did he do to give himself away?

     Sam swallowed and stayed silent. Anything he said could give away his identity or his accomplices. After all, they might only know about what he was doing in here. The best thing he could do, for his safety and theirs, was remain quiet.

     Greatly amused, Zoey sauntered closer as the guards held him in place. “Oh, how delicious. I wish I could bottle this moment.” She stopped inches away, body twisted like a snake. “It’s your lucky day, Samuel. You get to speak to the Director.”

     Oh boy.


	4. Chapter 4

     Damn it, Al was thinking about Beckett in a different way again.

     He didn’t _want_ to. But the way he’d acted when he spoke to Eugene’s children—stood up for him, no matter how optimistic or naïve he sounded—it seemed almost like the other one. And before he’d become whatever he was now, he _was_ that kid they saw at the drive, the one who knew Eugene and thought he was a hero. Maybe it was the leap, maybe it was the near death experience, but it seemed like he had some small part of that kid back. He didn’t have to do anything, after all.

     But for now, Al was dog tired. Parsing through the timeline merry-go-round could wait until morning. Locking up for the night, he started toward Mickey’s room so he could fall down into bed.

     Groaning. Swearing. He slowed down as he passed Beckett’s half-opened door.

     He was turned around, struggling to get in bed. Running his hand through his hair to soothe a headache, Al could see for the first time a long scar running across his skull. Grunting again, he managed to pull his leg up onto the bed with him. In the dim lamplight, Al could finally see how pieced together he was.

     God, he looked in rough shape.

     “Do you always like to watch people in their bedrooms?”

     Al hadn’t realized he’d noticed him. Putting his hands in his pockets, he shouldered the door open and stepped inside. “That was nice what you said back there.”

     Beckett raised an eyebrow. “What, about Humpty and Dumpty?”

     “About wanting people to be better.”

     “I was just playing the part.” He shrugged and picked up the newspaper from the nightstand.

     Stubborn as usual. Just like Sam. But he cared, even if he didn’t want to reveal it. Al studied the floor for a moment. “It, uh, it sounded like something that kid we saw at the drive would say.”

     Beckett’s eyes peered over the newspaper, saw Al’s unsaid credit. He wasn’t sure what to make of it. Slowly, he set the paper down and stared at the wall pensively. A fond memory allowed a reserved smile. “You know what I was just thinking about?”

     “What?” Al leaned against the door frame.

     “Sam.”

     A subtle grin. “Me too.”

     Beckett looked up, full of warm nostalgia. “I was just imagining what they might be doing to him right now. Maybe hogtying him to a meat hook on the ceiling?”

     That sucker-punched Al’s heartfelt moment right in the gut. He scowled at him and breathed through his nose, trying to keep his temper at bay. He knew he was trying to rile him up. Before he let his temper get the best of him, he headed for the door.

     “What’s the matter, Al?” Beckett called out teasingly, “I figured you’d be familiar with that one!”

     That was it. No Gooshie to intervene this time. He spun around and crossed the room at 110 miles per hour. Once the slimeball was in reach, he socked him hard across the jaw. "You bastard!"

     There was no resistance, only louder cackling. “Oh come on, I thought we were bonding!”

     “From now on, you keep your thoughts to yourself," Al hissed warningly. He backed off before he did any real damage. As much as he wanted to lay into him right now, he needed him. And that son of a bitch knew it. 

     “I’m just telling the truth,” Beckett chortled, straightening up the bed, “It’s not my fault you want to lie to yourself.”

     Grabbing at his temples, Al paced to work off his furious energy. It was only serving to make him more agitated. “I’m losing it here!” he ranted to himself, “If it’s not one thing on this leap, it’s another! Sam is in that place doing god knows what, and I’m stuck here with Chuckles until I can get to him, but I can’t even get this godforsaken mission over with because my project is held up by another one of _Edward St. John the Fifth’s_ stupid inspections!” He punched at the air. The contempt in his voice was palpable. “Just for once, I’d like to catch a break!”

     Beckett was sitting ramrod straight now. “What did you say?”

     “I said I’d like to catch a break,” Al quietly seethed, “Is that offensive to you too?”

     Clumsily, desperately, Beckett pulled himself to his feet and staggered over to him. “No, that name. What name did you say?”

     Al slanted his mouth, confused. “It’s just some nozzle we have to deal with at the Project.”

     “The name!” Beckett repeatedly forcefully.

     “Edward St. John?"

     Something had switched with Beckett in an instant; his eyes were wide and fearful. That, in turn, made Al nervous too. When the bad guys got scared, that was time to worry.

     “Does he know about me?” Beckett asked, controlling his heavy breathing.

     Al shrugged, still perplexed. “I dunno, maybe?"

     That answer wasn't good enough. Reverting back to the mode he knew best, Beckett had him by the front of his shirt. “This is important. Does he know about me?”

     “I said I don’t know!” Al smacked his hands away. That was enough manhandling for today. "Really. It depends on if Gooshie thought to mention it to him. If I were still there, believe me, I wouldn’t let that wimp know anything. But unfortunately, that’s not my call anymore.” He narrowed his eyes at the anxious man in front of him. His fear was the genuine article. “Why? What’s the big deal about Edward St. John?”

     Beckett was lost for a moment, imagining something he wasn’t saying. When he responded, he was very grave. “You’d better pray Gooshie didn’t say anything, because if Edward St. John knows who’s really there…what we find isn’t even going to resemble your friend.”

\-------

     Sam’s cry was cut short as the punch to his gut knocked the wind out of him. A low groan, accompanied by the rattling of chains that connected him to the ceiling.

     This was not where he had wanted to end up, but he wasn’t unrealistic. He knew it was a possibility, and so that meant follow a new plan. He was the only one here and that meant it was likely they didn't know that the others were involved in the escape. Whatever penalty came his way, he'd just have to bear it until they could regroup. After all, this wasn’t the first tight situation he’d found himself in, nor the first time he'd found himself strung up and beaten. He would be okay, if a little bruised. And lordy, did he feel bruised.

     “He’s here.”

     The Director. The door slid open and Sam braced himself, but he was not expecting the shock that awaited him on the other side. As he realized who he was staring at, he was struck dumb.

     There stood Edward St. John the Fifth.

     This was impossible. Utterly impossible. How could he have…and they’d not…it was impossible!

 _Him?_ Sam wasn’t sure what tested his belief more, the utter betrayal or the fact he just couldn’t see it still. He cursed himself for not opening his eyes. He _knew_ there was something about him that made his skin crawl!

     But why the ruse?

     He was dressed differently, carried himself with more confidence. Instead of a dated brown suit, he wore a well-tailored black one with leather gloves. A cordial smile remained on his face as he strolled toward Sam in no real hurry.

     “Good evening,” he said pleasantly, “I do hope we’re not keeping you awake.”

     Sam attempted to disguise his bewilderment; after all, he should know who the Director is. This tested every acting skill he'd acquired as a leaper, because right now he felt ungodly sick. He shrugged, although his voice broke just a little. “I was up anyway.”

     “That’s delightful to hear.” St. John clasped his hands behind his back and tilted forward. “I was so looking forward to meeting you in the flesh…Doctor Beckett.”

     All the blood drained from Sam’s face as soon as he heard his true title. They knew who he was.

     “Oh don’t look so surprised, Samuel!” St. John pulled his chin down and frowned as if he was being silly. “You’d be amazed what kinds of things I hear at your project. You should really be more careful who you bring on board. It seems anyone with…less than honorable intentions could get inside.”

     Sam was at a loss for words, but he definitely took a shot at it. “H…How…?”

     “Oh don't give yourself so much credit. You're very easy to fool.”

     “But why?”

     “Why? Why? Why does there have to be a why?” The man threw out his hands and twirled in a circle. “Do you ask yourself why you do the things you do, Samuel?”

     Sam set his jaw. “Every day.”

     With a soft sigh, St. John folded his hands in front of him and considered for a moment. Then nodded. “Very well. I’ll put it in simple terms that any Nobel Prize-winning quantum physicist can understand.” As he spoke to Sam, he began to circle like a vulture. “You answer to some higher power. I answer to...someone else.” The footsteps stopped behind him. “…and he doesn’t like it when you put right what he made wrong.”

     A sudden chill made Sam tremble. Once, a long time ago—almost too long in leap years to remember—he’d encountered this other power. Somehow he’d convinced himself it was a dream. To believe otherwise would be absurd. How could such an entity exist; how could he care about someone as small as Sam? And how could he possibly…create all of this?

     “You met him once before. Another time, another place. He made you whimper like a child.”

     He was disguised as Al, and then he was the dead. His eyes were scarlet as he clasped Sam’s throat and they spun so fast the very world around them was tearing itself apart. Sam flew untethered through time, only narrowly escaping the nightmare he’d become imprisoned in. It was through no action of his own. He’d had little option but to stare in horror and pray.

The Devil. Sam still didn't know that he believed he existed, the same as he didn't know exactly Who or What decided his fate. But if indeed he was leaped by God, then he had no choice but to believe that the power at work here came from the Other Place.

     “And don’t tell Him…but secretly I think this is much more fun.”

     Sam was still processing everything. He wasn't very successful.

Fear was pushed away by thoughts of hope. He had backup, more than one in fact. He was going to be rescued one way or the other. GTFW didn’t abandon him the first time he encountered this entity, and he wouldn’t abandon him now.

     His mask dauntless, Sam looked Edward St. John in the eye as he crossed in front of him again. “You probably think you’ve got me scared, St. John. But you’re forgetting one thing.”

     “And what's that?"

     “I met the Devil and lived. You’re just a man.”

     Edward St. John didn’t even blink. But he wasn’t smiling anymore.

     “And I bet you’ve never seen him for yourself. That must really sting that I did, but you weren’t worth it.” Oh yes, that struck a nerve. Feeling bolder, Sam told him assuredly, “So whatever you want from me for this plan of yours…you’re not going to get it. I won’t tell you anything.”

     Once again they were sizing each other up. St. John was still, like a statue. Sam hoped he didn’t see his shaking and discover how terrified he really was. But whatever they did to him…he wasn’t going to aid in their evil game. He wouldn’t become like the other Sam. He wouldn’t give in.

     Without looking, St. John called to Zoey. “Bring him in.”

     There was Kevin.

     "Sam?"

     Every ounce of self-assured bluff left Sam as he saw the frightened teen. No matter how scared he himself was, he couldn’t throw someone else on the sword. “Now w-wait a minute,” Sam stammered, “Let’s just…let’s just talk. I’ll tell you what you want to know, just don’t hurt—”

     _Crack!_

Sam jumped. An axe was embedded in Kevin’s neck. Zoey let go, the boy choked a little, and then slumped to the ground. Blood began to pool around him.

     A numb devastation. Sam hung there limp, unable to respond or even think.

     St. John’s gaze never left Sam’s. There had been no hesitation, no room for negotiation. In fact, Sam realized he hadn’t been thrown by his words all. He’d been playing with him, just like he had before.

     Two steps. He was inches from his pallid face as he explained good-naturedly, “We already have what we want from you, Samuel.”

     If it were possible, Sam grew even paler.

\-------

     “Edward St. John.”

     “I’ve only met him a few times. And…I never want to meet him again.”

     “ _Edward St. John._ ”

     Briefly forgetting his fear, Beckett scowled at Al. “Yes, Edward St. John. Are you deaf or stupid?”

     “Sorry, it’s just—Look, I just can’t picture it,” Al admitted, palms up, “He just seemed so…so milquetoast. It can’t be the same guy.”

     “He’s a very good actor.” Beckett was much too familiar with him. Al didn’t know what he was capable of.

     “But why? Why would the director of the Bizarro Project show up at ours pretending to be some arbitrary rule-enforcing pencil pusher?”

     “Because he knew you wouldn’t suspect him that way.” Beckett leaned on his knees, trying to get ahold of himself. “And obviously it worked.”

     “But _why_? Why sneak around all this time?”

     “Maybe he was testing you.”

     “Right. He annoys us with red tape while simultaneously running an evil project meant to thwart our progress,” Al uttered sarcastically, “No wonder Weitzman liked him.”

     Ding ding ding! Bingo. Al thought back to all of their previous interactions with St. John and suddenly everything was falling into place. With wide eyes, he slumped down onto the bed next to Beckett.

     “My god…all of the bullshit when he was our Observer, conveniently not getting information in time—he was feeling us out! And—and all of these surprise inspections, they were stall tactics to get us to mess up the leaps!” He jumped to his feet again. “He was playing us the whole time! God, if I could get my hands on him right now, I swear I’d wring his—”

     “He’d kill you first.”

     Hands in mid-strangle, Al lowered them when he noticed his fear again. He wasn’t insulting him, just stating a fact. He sobered up as he remembered what was at stake. “If he knows it’s really my Sam in there...is he dead?”

     “No," Beckett whispered and shook his head, "He wants him alive...but he’ll wish he wasn’t.”

     Slowly lowering himself back onto the bed, Al was filled determined outrage. At first this revelation had been kind of funny, but now it dawned on him that if Edward St. John really was who Beckett claimed to be, Sam was in even deeper trouble than he realized. Violence filled his thoughts, but he couldn’t fly off the handle just yet. He had to figure this out and go get Sam. Then he could kill Edward St. John. "Why does he want him?”

     “I don’t know. They wouldn’t tell us.”

     “Of course not,” Al complained sardonically, “That would be too easy.” He leaned on his hand and concentrated. “I still don’t understand why he’d be at Project Quantum Leap and not done anything. Even if he was only keeping tabs or screwing with the leaps, it doesn’t seem worth it just to inconvenience us. And if he wants Sam, he could've used the current leap data to track where he is. Why hasn’t he sent one of you guys out to get him before now?”

     “There’s still something he needs…” Beckett furrowed his brows, bit his lip. An idea occurred to him. “Those files he had me steal. I know that was important because they were particularly creative with their torture when they found out they couldn’t decrypt it. He must be looking for a way to access it at your project; that’s why he hasn’t done anything yet.”

     Al raised his eyebrows. “You’re right!” Despite himself, he chuckled. “Only, he can’t access any of the old data because the only two people who have the codes are lost in time!"

     “Just one now.” Solemn silence. Beckett frowned. “But that doesn’t make sense. We have my—Sam’s codes already. That’s how I accessed your files in the first place. There was a…a recording from Project Blue Book.”

     “Oh yeah! My damn swiss brain almost let me forget about that!” Al slammed his fist onto his knee. “I knew those knucklenoses would let that leak! Any government nozzle worth their salt would keep that under lock, key, and concrete.” Miming a key, he threw it away. Grumbling, he added, “Even as a professional courtesy…”

     Beckett shook his head in frustration. “Don’t you get it? If he has the codes, there has to be some other reason he wants your friend.”

     Al’s face turned stony. He had an idea what that involved.

\-------

     “Do you remember shooting me, Doctor Beckett?”

     It was just Zoey now. She’d wanted to be alone with him, a wish that was easily granted. After all, everyone would get a turn. Her heels clicked against the floor as she got closer.

     Sam’s breathing was shallow, to lessen the ache of his broken ribs. From the table he now found himself on, he focused on the ceiling rather than his bruises and cuts or the straps around his wrists. Strange how St. John had never touched him. Just watched. But he felt an overwhelming blackness emanating from his presence that smothered and choked him.

     The ceiling was so red.

     Sharp nails snatched at his hair and yanked his head back, causing him to shout. Zoey bent in close. “I asked you a question, Doctor.”

     Sam closed his eyes and grimaced. “Y-Yes…I remember…”

     A thin smile. Zoey dropped his head and turned around. “Good. I wouldn’t want those holes in your memory to deprive me of this moment.” When she faced him again, she had a burlap sack. She set it on the table and began to unzip the front of his jumpsuit. “I remember the moment quite well. After you _stole_ Alia from me…” Her voice rose, she clenched her fist around his jumpsuit. She forced herself to calm down and continued her work. “If I couldn’t have her, I swore no one else would...but you took that from me too. And then you put a bullet in my chest. I felt a...burning sensation, then a gradual rise in agony, it got worse and worse and I went places I didn’t even know I could reach. I wished for death. In fact, at the time I would’ve envied poor Kevin.” She waved one hand toward the body, left carelessly where he fell and sticky with time.

     Sam clenched his jaw, the heat rising to his face. “You didn’t have to kill him…”

     She ran her hand lightly across the sack's fabric. “Oh but Samuel…we didn’t.” Her lip curled up. “ _You_ did.”

     Brows furrowed, Sam stared at her, puzzled. She emptied the sack and thousands of tiny shards of glass settled on top of his chest. Sam’s face twisted further as he wondered what was coming.

     “You got careless, Samuel. A curious piece of technology was found in 1945, a handheld computer of some sort…” Zoey raised an eyebrow. “Now how would a piece of a parallel hybrid computer find its way to 1945, I wonder?”

     When he and Al switched places. The handlink had gone with Al. It was completely dead, but it had stayed there when they had leaped out. Sam hadn’t even thought of it until now.

     “Imagine what would happen if it fell into the wrong hands…” She shrugged. Slipped on a pair of thick leather gloves. “…it could even be used to duplicate your work.”

     As the realization dawned on him, Sam began to feel an ache in his chest that had nothing to do with his injuries. His breath caught in horror as it became clear to him that all of this—the torture, the misery, the _pure evil_ —had been his fault all along.

     Her hand lightly pressed down on his chest, digging the glass in very slowly. “You created us, Doctor Beckett.”

     God, no.

     She rolled the heels of her hands into him as if she was kneading dough. As hundreds of shards cut at once, he yelled out. But the pain of that didn’t matter to him much. The wound of his mistake was too great.

\-------

     Where the hell was Gooshie?!

     Al wrung his hands impatiently. Used to be he could just shout out his name, run in to the Imaging Chamber, find him buried in wires, and lay into him, but now he was unfortunately bound to the schedule of a 40-something-year-old programmer with his head up in space. One of the worst downsides of leaping was having no control over what went on at the Project he once was in charge of. Sure, Gooshie was looking into ways to target a leap into a place they’d never gone and utilizing a technique they’d never used before, but the fact he’d not so much as checked in on them was another mark on his spotty record. When _Al_ was the Observer, he’d _never_ leave Sam hanging like this. Almost never.

     He had to warn him not to talk to St. John, if he hadn’t already. God, it killed him not knowing.

     How could this have happened without anyone being aware of it? Pfft, well, _that_ was an easy answer: Weitzman. Ever since he’d taken control of the Project in Al’s absence, things had gone from bad to worse. Sammy Jo might be the Director, but she had little to work with while Weitzman was pulling the strings. Who knew what kind of information St. John got and what he was planning? It made Al’s skin crawl thinking about him slinking behind the scenes this whole time. The slimeball.

     Man, he hoped Sam was okay.

     But he couldn’t do anything about it right now, so until Gooshie showed up, he was going to fix the problems here and now. Or, here and then. Rose was going to kill someone, and since the _other_ leaper here was an unstable psychopath, it was up to _him_ to set her on the straight and narrow.

     He knocked on her door and she started.

     “Oh! Jeez, you scared me…” She clasped her chest and blew out a deep breath. She’d been unpacking.

     “Jumpy, huh?” Al put his fists in his pockets and tried to act casual.

     Rose’s eyes slit suspiciously. “Yeah, well strange men in my room make me a little nervous.”

     “Point taken.” Al took a step backwards and raised his palms innocently. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

     “Why?” Boy, was she was always on the defensive?

     “I, uh…” That was a good question. When in doubt, make something up. “Well, I noticed that group you were spending time with the other day and…I had some concerns.”

     “Group?”

     “Fran’s Foxes.”

     “Were you spying on me?” Rose questioned, scowling with disbelief, “Look, if this place has suddenly turned into like…a clean and sober house, you can count me out.”

     “Hey, no judgment here,” Al replied lightly, spreading out his hands, “I’m not gonna tell you how you should live your life. But I do want to give out a friendly warning: when things get tough…your new friends aren’t gonna be there for you.”

     Hand on her hip, Rose cocked her head and scoffed. “But no judgment, right?”

     “What I’m saying happens to be true. Believe me, I’ve been in your position.” The many times he’d run away from the orphanage hadn’t always been a fun adventure, after all. There were several different flavors of scumbag for a kid on the streets to put their trust into.

     “Yeah, well…I can’t exactly be picky.” She zipped up her duffel bag and shoved it under the bed.

     Al shrugged. “Why not? Bright girl like you. You could make plenty of good friends.”

     “What, like you?”

     “Yeah, like me.”

     Rose chuckled and rolled her eyes. “You don’t even know me. You don’t want any part of this.”

     “Maybe if you let me get to know you, I’d see a pretty great person.”

     A glare. “What is this, a come on?”

     Now Al was glaring. “Trust me…” He bent forward. “If I was coming onto you, you’d know it. I’m just trying to look out for you.”

     “ _No one_ is looking out for anyone but themselves.”

     Great. _Two of them_ this leap. Al nodded and scratched his cheek. “I used to think that way. But…then I met someone who made me realize that there are people with good intentions out there. If you just let them in.” Al’s mouth thinned as he thought of Sam, wherever he was. He wished he’d been here to guide him. He was always better at this sort of thing.

     Rose sneered. “You sound as crazy as that stupid old man who runs this place, you know that?” She shook her head, throwing out her hands. “You want to know what sort of person I am? I’m the kind of person who got beaten up by her mother for coming home too late, when really she was just angry because she didn’t even know who my father was. So I went out and drank until I couldn’t feel anymore, so the beatings wouldn’t be so bad. And when I finally opened up to someone, thought I loved them…he beat me too. So I drove his car into a lake.” She took a step closer and narrowed her eyes. “You’re just the same as him, as her. Everyone is. And if you think you aren’t capable of it, just wait. We all get there.”

     “You know what your problem is?” It was Beckett. God, no. He shoved past Al and came inside, the scent of liquor on his breath nearly knocking him down. He wagged his finger clumsily. "You’re so angry at everyone else that you can’t look at yourself and change."

     Oh boy, this was rich. Al tried to grab him, but he pulled himself free. “Okay, pal, let’s just—”

     “I’m not done." Beckett turned his attention back to an astonished Rose. He stumbled a little. “All you’re doing is making the world miserable, when you could be making a difference. What’s the point?”

     “I’m sorry, what’s happening?” Rose raised her hands, baffled. “Why are you two here?”

     “We’re trying to help you!” Beckett yelled, clomping closer, “You see that, right? You’re trapping yourself. Like—Like a rat. You’re a rat!”

     Al shifted uncomfortably. The bastard was tanking it by talking like a nutball. “Uh, now’s not a good time. Let’s come back later.”

     “Better yet, why don’t I just leave?” Rose shoved her way past them. “I don’t need this! You two are crazy!”

     Beckett called out over his shoulder. “You’re throwing it all away, Sally!”

     Wrong words. Rose came to a halt. She slowly turned around and Beckett smirked. He knew he got her with her real name.

     “Don’t ever call me that,” she ordered with acidity. And she was gone.

     Disgusted, Al decided to leave too. “Thanks. You blew it.”

     _“I_ blew it? She’s the one who decided to be a bitch.”

     Al stopped. He knew this exercise was pointless by now, but he just got on his nerves. “Look, why don’t you leave this up to me, huh? Obviously it’s beyond your capacity.”

     “Maybe she’s not worth it, Al,” Beckett said, falling into a chair in the hallway, “I told you before. You can’t save them all.” This was pitiful. The drunken slob was half-slumped out of his seat.

     Al’s jaw slid to the side and he took a deep breath. “One thing I could never understand is how you and my Sam are the same guy. The Sam I know is a good person, and believe me, he’s been through the wringer. But somehow, you ended up like you.”

     Beckett stared at his hands, silent. Al took that as an answer and figured he’d go before he really blew a gasket and regretted it.

\-------

     There was no signal. The doors couldn’t be opened and the other Sam hadn’t shown up. As time went by at a snail’s pace, so came the realization that the plan had gone horribly awry.

     Calavicci had been prepared for this. In fact, he’d expected as much. Unfortunately, Kevin had not. Before he could stop him, the kid had gotten spooked and taken off. He didn’t know his way around like Calavicci did. He was going to get caught and the punishment wasn’t going to be hard labor this time. Maybe because it was his first offense they would go light on the torture. It was nicer to think that.

     If the signal never happened, then Sam had been caught. And Calavicci knew where to find him. His gut reaction ran through his head. Sadness at the dashed hope, and his ensuing anger at being fooled. Fury that because of this man, he may never see Sam again. How could he take him away? Not the last thing he had. Not Sam. He had started his journey to find him with worry, but that became hard and unforgiving. Why did he ever believe him?

     First, he found Zoey. She was exiting the Disciplinary Chamber looking like a pig in shit, except instead of shit it was blood. She’d cleaned up, but there were still stains on her clothes and hands. Calavicci shivered at the familiar memories. If the Doctor Beckett didn’t know the cruelty of this place before, he had to know now. Good. He needed to be taken down a peg.

     She saw him and smiled icily. “Good morning, Albert. Sleep well?”

     “Like a baby,” he lied. He hadn’t slept at all. His anxious hands were hidden in his pockets. Leaning curiously toward the door, he asked, “What did he do this time?”

     Zoey looked positively thrilled to be the deliverer of good news. She leaned in secretively. “Oh I think you’ll enjoy this absolutely _delicious_ twist of events.” Calavicci raised an eyebrow. “It seems our Samuel…is not our Samuel at all. Inside that room is none other than Doctor Sam Beckett.”

     Calavicci feigned shock and did a double take. It was a truly Oscar-worthy performance. “No shit!” he whispered, “How the hell did that happen?”

     “Seems there was a freak accident. And now…” Zoey caressed her stained hands. “…we can _all_ get our revenge.”

     “Yeah...” Calavicci clenched his jaw, his true feelings aiding his charade. “I’d love to get my hands around his neck.” He swiveled his head around to check if anyone was watching. “Do you think you can get me in for a few minutes?”

     This idea struck Zoey’s fancy. She got a thoughtful look on her face that lit up with devilish possibilities. Lifting a shoulder, she stated, “I don’t see why you can’t have a little fun with him…” She put in the code. The door lifted. “You don’t have to be gentle…but do remember that the Director wants to keep him alive.”

    Calavicci nodded and started inside, but Zoey stopped him with a threat in her eyes.

     “You kill him…and it’ll end up being _you_ on that table.”

\-------

     The smell was what struck him first. Old blood, fresh blood. A lot of it. As he entered that familiar dungeon, his eyes were first drawn to the body left on the floor.

     “Damn it…” he swore under his breath and closed his eyes.

     He'd started to like that one. He really had. For a brief period of time, he'd started to think he had a future.

     “I’m sorry…” It was Sam on the table, beaten, bloody, and half-conscious. His voice was raw from screaming.

     This was not a surprising sight, but at the same time, Calavicci felt his heart wrench. The closer he got, the worse that feeling became. Why was he feeling like this for...for him?

     The kid just kept repeating the same thing, his voice cracking. “I’m sorry...I’m sorry...I’m sorry...”

     “Sorry for what?”

     Sam licked his lips; breathed in jaggedly. “I caused this…all of this…it’s my fault…” His face twisted with regret. “I created this project. I put you here…”

     Calavicci cast his eyes away and shifted his balance uncomfortably. “You caught onto that, huh?”

     “If I’d known what would happen, I never would’ve done it…” Sam croaked, “I didn’t want this. You have to believe me. Please believe me.”

     This was hard. For so long, Calavicci had wanted nothing but vengeance, for Doctor Beckett to admit to his mistakes and pay for them. And now that he had it, it felt like ash in his mouth.

     "I’m sorry I didn’t get you out.” The blood on his face was broken up by tear-streaks from his red eyes. Calavicci couldn't stay angry if he'd wanted to. He knew what he felt; he'd _been_ him. He _was_ him.

     Hesitantly, he reached out and placed his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “It was a good try, kid.”

     He thought he had more to say, but now he found that he didn’t.

\-------

     Rose had to bug out of there fast. What exactly were those two boneheads smoking? She’d find it funny if it weren’t so infuriating. She couldn’t explain their sudden interest or…unusual methods, but no way was she going to get suckered in by some Good Samaritans thinking she was someone to fix. After another line of coke, she power walked through town with her head low.

     There was no point in trying to change her life now. She’d come this far, hadn’t she? And even if she’d wanted to…everyone else was the same. They lied, cheated, used. The only thing she was good for was a lay.

     “Ring around the Rosie!” She was surrounded by Fran and the others, who circled her like buzzards. “Pocket full of posey! Ashes, ashes…”

     “…we all fall down.” Fran stopped in front, a playful look hidden under her large sunglasses. “Hiya, girl.”

     “What do you want, Fran?”

     “We missed you, babe. You still staying at that dump?”

     Rose was about to answer, and then really thought about it. “After today, maybe not.”

     “Ooh…” One of the girls slinked up behind and snaked her arm around her. “Trouble in paradise?”

     “You know we always have room.”

     Rose couldn’t help it. She laughed. Sometimes Fran’s Foxes scared the shit out of her, but she couldn’t deny that they were fun.

     “Come on, Rose…” Annette purred softly. She was met with an elbow from one of the others and she squeaked.

     “Shut up, Annette. Don’t pressure her.”

     Annette nodded timidly.

     “So what’s it gonna be, sis?” Fran asked. She lowered her sunglasses. “Wanna have a party with us?”

     “I don’t know.” Rose put her hands on her hips. “Is it illegal?”

     “ _Very._ ”

     Fran reached out and slowly slipped a gun into Rose’s hand. At first she was frightened at the weight of it, but it gradually filled her with a sense of power she thought had been stolen from her. She smiled.

\-------

     Hours had gone by and still no Gooshie. By the end of this leap, he wasn’t gonna be the only one with an ulcer. In the meantime, Al was looking through Eugene’s office for anything useful. Records, maybe a _hint_ about the right direction. Mickey seemed like a good kid from what was in his room, but something told Al—maybe leaper's intuition, if it existed—that Eugene was the key to all of this.

     A knight’s helmet was hidden on a shelf in the corner. He picked it up and chuckled. “He really took that theme and ran with it, huh?”

     “He was a really nice guy.” It was Beckett. Slightly more sober, but no less disheveled than usual. But his earlier temper had faded away. He lifted his shoulder. “At least from what I remember.”

     “Seems he made quite the impression on Rose before we leaped in.” Giving into the terrible truth, Al sighed and let his body sag. “…and I think, unfortunately, that means that he’s the one who needs to talk to her. When he’s sober, that is.”

     "That doesn’t make any sense." Beckett frowned. "If that were true, why would I leap into him? Why not you?”

      Setting the helmet down, Al splayed out his hands with a sarcastic smirk. “God, Time, Fate, or Whatever works in mysterious ways.”

     Beckett gave him a snide look. “That’s stupid.”

     “Oh good. Are we gonna argue again?”

     Closing his eyes, Beckett scratched at his stubble nervously. “No, I…” Stopping to think, he tapped his crutch on the floor. It was evident that he’d been debating coming in here for some time. He exhaled deeply, looking oddly vulnerable and small. “I didn’t come in here to fight. I came here to be honest for once.”

     Al raised his brows but kept his eyelids low. Beckett seemed sincere, but it was healthy to have some skepticism around him at this point. The other man seemed twisted up inside at the prospect of opening up, but knew it was necessary.

     “I tried to help someone once. Her name was Caroline Lane.” Beckett studied his palms as he twisted them together. “She was, uh…she was an assignment. Sedona. I was supposed to get her to take a train that ended up derailing and killing 18 passengers. But I…I just couldn’t do it.” He half-laughed at the thought of how he was, but it was humorless. His smile faded quickly and he knit his brows and flexed his fingers. “I was tired of…of hurting people; I just wanted it to stop. And she was so…kind, and trusting, and everything I wanted to be. So I made sure she missed that train.”

     By now, Al was listening intently. He didn’t move.

     “So they sent someone else in and murdered her.” Beckett’s eyes flicked back and forth, as if watching the memory on an old film. “But they didn’t do it quickly. It took them days. And they made me watch the whole time, as they tortured her and she begged, and all I could do was tell her I was sorry. And they thought it was _funny_. They had this… _twisted_ smile on their face, especially when she cried. But the worst part of it was that when everything was said and done...it was my fault that she was there.” He swallowed. “I stopped trying to help people after that." He blinked and his brow creased even more. For the first time, he looked back up at Al. “I was 17 when I killed my first victim. I was never a good man.”

\-------

     Just a quick stop for her things, and then she was gone. After the robbery, she’d use the money to get out of town. Maybe get a hotel, even a cheap one. Rose was certain any rat-infested hole had to be better than this place.

     As she passed by the office, however, she heard a curious conversation.

\-------

     “I don’t know if I can help Rose...because I’ve done too many terrible things to be able to do any kindness now.” Beckett picked up the helmet. “I’m not Sam Beckett anymore. I can’t be him. I can’t be Don Quixote.”

     For a long time, Al couldn’t say anything. He just stared at his shoes. Opened his mouth and then thought better of it.

     Finally, he just kept it simple: “Don Quixote isn’t real. That’s the point.”

     To emphasize his meaning, he leaned forward and raised his eyebrow.

\-------

     Rose frowned and pulled away from the door. Who the hell was Sam Beckett?


	5. Chapter 5

     Sam’s lungs were burning. He wanted to scream but he couldn’t. The rushing in his ears grew louder and louder and then began to dim as consciousness started to fade.

     But just before he was released, his head was yanked hard back to the surface. He spluttered out water and gasped for air, groaning as his broken bones shrieked. But he had to breathe as much as he could, take it in while he had the chance, because just like before he found himself pushed under again.

     This continued for some time. He’d stopped counting the minutes. He just knew that eventually his body had given out and he woke up on the table again.

     St. John was looking down at him. He tutted. “Samuel…you look a mess.” He stooped down lower. “However, I’m pleased we’ve had this chance to catch up. You’ve been away from your own time for so long, I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever get here.”

     Sam gritted his teeth but said nothing.

     “I know it’s difficult to understand,” St. John continued, circling the table, “They always ask why. As if I need another reason.” He jammed his finger into a gash on Sam’s arm, causing him to howl. “What can I say? I simply enjoy my work.” Removing his finger, he continued his circling. “But in the end, I’m just like you, Samuel. A visionary who just wants to make the world better. I can’t thank you enough for paving the way.”

     Sam breathed through his teeth, half-laughing. "No matter what you do...there's always going to be someone out there putting things right…”

     St. John stopped, conceded with a nod. “Hm. But not you, it seems.”

     Footsteps. The door shut. Sam closed his eyes.

     And pulled his sleeve down with his damp fingers. Finally, he’d pulled far enough to reach the piece of glass he’d hidden inside. Grasping it clumsily, he began to saw at the straps around his wrist. Time was limited—he managed to nick himself more than once—he was finally able to break his hand free and undo the rest.

     He was getting _out._

_\-------_

     Sam’s bare feet squished against the cold project floors and the hem of his soggy jumpsuit as he rushed to find the elevators. Footsteps again. His heart nearly leapt into his chest. Panicked, he jumped around the corner and waited for the guards to pass.

     His chest threatened to burst open. The footsteps faded, but he couldn’t shake his dread.

     Find Calavicci. Find Calavicci and shut down Lothos and get out. Get out now or he never would.

     “Oh Samuel.”

     Chilling terror overtook him, a feeling so petrifying it could tear him down through the floor and into hell itself. He’d never felt like this in all this life.

     Slowly, he turned his quaking body around. St. John was standing near the front door, hands folded in front of him. “I must say, I’m let down. I thought we were very generous hosts.”

     A ringing in his ears. Sam’s mind ran at a million miles an hour, plotting which way he should run.

     St. John sighed, as if slightly inconvenienced. With a shrug, “Oh well. I can see you aren’t happy here. If you insist, you can leave.”

     Entering in the code, the door opened. Light—real light, like Sam hadn’t seen in so long—poured in and nearly blinded him. St. John stepped aside, allowing him to pass.

     A long pause. Sam didn’t know what to do. His eyes darted wildly back and forth, waiting for the trap to spring out.

     But there was nothing.

     “Go on. I won’t stop you.”

     He knew it was a trick. But he didn’t care. God, he just wanted out, just for a while. Nearly tripping under his own weight, he scrambled out the door and toward the precious light.

\-------

     Immediately, he was stopped in his tracks by a piercing cold. The biting air was so sharp that he collapsed in the snow.

     For miles and miles, all that could be seen was white. There was nothing.

     As his soaking body began to ice over, Sam was shaking uncontrollably. He couldn’t think. His mind and body were numb. There was nowhere to go.

     He looked back at St. John, standing in the warm doorway with that same little smile he always seemed to have. 

     Sam panted and trembled. Utter despair threatened to encase him in a frozen tomb. The bastard knew what he’d been planning. He’d waited for him, let him have some small bit of promise because he knew the payoff would be so satisfying.

     “You can come back in, Samuel. But only if you beg.”

     If he stayed out here, he was going to die. But the thought of going back to that…that hell on earth, to _plead_ to be let back…it was too much. Sam couldn’t bear it. He wanted to weep if his eyes wouldn’t be frozen shut.

     He swallowed and a little bit of him died inside.

     “P-Please…”

     “Please what?”

     “P-Please…l-let me c-come in…”

     “But of course.” St. John stepped aside and once again waited. Pleasantly, with malicious patience. His eyes almost seemed black. "All you needed to do was ask."

     Sam’s bloody hand dug into the snow. Then the other. Slowly, painstakingly, he began to crawl back to his prison.

     He was never getting out.

\-------

     Beckett wasn’t sure how long he sat in that office staring at that helmet and pondering what everything meant. It sat on the desk in all its splendor like a precious relic, its secret hidden deep inside the shadows underneath its visor.

     He’d been so many places, times, people. He’d played the good guy, he’d even thought he was one. But each and every time, he’d caved into his demons and returned to his old ways. It was easier, more comforting. And when Calavicci had pleaded for his help saving Alia, told him redemption started with one good thing…even _he_ didn’t believe himself when he’d helped her escape. He hadn’t really. All he did was neglect to tell the Project about her. Calavicci had been her knight in shining armor, her Don Quixote.

     He had been Aldonza, as he’d always been.

     He saw himself in Rose more than he’d care to admit. And if this leap was to be believed, then it was…his fate, his destiny, to open her eyes and see that she could be Dulcinea. She didn’t know what was coming, that her Caroline Lane was waiting. But didn’t she deserve a chance? He wanted that for her. He _wanted_ to solve this leap.

     It suddenly struck him how long it had been since he'd wanted anything.

     “Who are you?”

     He nearly jumped out of his chair. Twisting around, he saw Rose staring him down with accusing eyes. “Rose. I was just wanting to see you.”

     “You didn’t answer me. Who are you?”

     “What do you mean?”

     “I heard you talking to Mickey. You aren’t Eugene Walsh.”

     It was never easy, was it?

     For a third time, more forcefully, “ _Who are you?_ ”

     He had to give her credit. She was smart _and_ had a pair. If she’d figured out this much, he wasn’t going to patronize her. Keeping a cool air, he calmly pushed himself up out of his seat and used the desk for support. “You’re right. I’m not Eugene Walsh. I was sent here for you.”

     “You came here for me.”

     “Yes.”

     Rose took a distrusting step back. “What do you want?”

     “To help.”

     “Bullshit.”

     “It’s true.”

     Rose shook her head. “How can I trust anything you’ve said when you won’t even tell me your real name?”

     Stepping around the desk, Beckett looked her straight in the eye. “I’m someone who cares about what happens to you; that’s all you need to know. And if you go out that door, you’re going to make a huge mistake. It’s not too late to save yourself.”

     “Live in reality!” Rose shouted, picking up the helmet. “This isn’t a castle, and I’m not a princess. This isn’t how the world works!” She threw the helmet aside, where it clanked into the wall and spun on the ground.

     Mustering up as much strength as he had, Beckett stalked toward her. “You think I don’t know all of that is made up?” he asked from under his brow, “The world is shit. You think you’re bad? I’ve done things you couldn’t even imagine. I’ve seen the Devil himself. And it’s not just robberies, Rose, he always want something more." He was hunched but somehow hovered above her like a ten-foot gargoyle, shadows dancing across his face. "Are you ready to kill someone? Are you ready to die?”

     For the first time, Rose was starting to crack. Doubt oozed out of her like a toxic slime. She folded her arms and scratched herself. The weight of the gun hidden in her jacket seemed impossibly heavy. “I don’t know how to be anything else…”

     Taking a deep breath, Beckett’s face grew softer. A profound realization came upon him that this was the time he really meant it. “Rose…” he said quietly, “Why do we all have to be shit just because we can't be something that isn't real? Why can't we just try to be good anyway?"

     Picking up the helmet, he handed it back to her.

     “You’re not a princess. You’re the knight.” 

     Finally, he understood. So did Rose. She wrapped her arms around him and wept.

     Taken by surprise, Beckett stood there with his arms hovering. It had been so long since he’d had a genuine, gentle touch, and never one of gratitude, never of someone who needed him. He had to admit that he was so out of his element he was in outer space. But he wanted her to feel safe…to know she was understood.

     Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her and clasped her head protectively to his chest.

\-------

     “She’s not gonna show; let’s just get out of here and rob the place.”

     “We go when I say we go,” Fran ordered, “And I say we’re not going without Rose.”

     Her flunky huffed. “I never liked her anyway…”

     “I do,” Annette piped in, trying to suck up to Fran. She was elbowed hard. “Owww!”

     “Hey knock it off!” It was Rose. She jumped in and pushed the girl away. “Why’re you always picking on her?”

     “Annette’s a big girl,” Fran said dismissively, “She _likes_ being teased.”

     “Is that true?” Rose asked Annette directly, “Do you like the way they treat you?”

     Annette seemed dumbfounded at the question. “Uhhh…”

     “Hey who cares?” one of the others chimed in, “Aren’t we supposed to be havin’ some fun right now?”

     Fran grinned. “Yeah. You kept us waiting long enough. Let’s go paint the town red!”

     The girls giggled and flocked together, but Rose stayed right where she was. “I’m not going.”

     A beat. Fran lowered her sunglasses. “What?”

     “I’m not going. And neither should you.”

     Buzzkill. Fran broke from the pack and sidled up close to Rose. “Rosie baby…we talked about this. I thought you wanted to live a little?”

     “I…I had some time to think,” Rose said, hoping she sounded confident, “And…this is wrong. People are going to get hurt. You can’t do this.”

     Fran’s grin melted away. “This is how you treat me after everything I’ve done for you? You're like a sister to me." Then she added callously, "Where else are you gonna get your fix?"

     “Yeah…” Rose pulled herself away, a clear message that they were breaking up. She reached into her jacket and held out the gun to return it. “Well that ends now. I’m going straight.”

     Not sure how to process the rejection, Fran hesitantly took the gun. Then, as it sunk in, she growled and hit her across the face with the handle. Rose collapsed to the ground. “You ungrateful bitch.” The others flocked to her side and she spit on her. “I shoulda known better than to trust you. You aren’t worth sharing our air.” Her stiletto made painful contact with her side. “Come on, girls. Let’s leave this trash here.”

     “You rob that place, I’ll tell the police everything!” If this didn’t end now, it would never stop. It wasn’t just about Rose’s future, but doing what was right. For once in her life, she was going to have some principles. If she was going to make a change, it started here.

     Again, they came to a stop. Slowly, they turned to face her.

     “Then we have a problem.”

\-------

     He deserved this.

     Maybe this was GTFW catching up to him, his punishment for his creation. Sam didn’t know what to believe anymore. If he was the hero he was supposed to be, then why did he end up here?

     His breathing was shallow. After he’d dragged himself back inside, the hypothermia set in. He’d been stripped of his clothes (to avoid any tricks like before) and left on the floor. No chains, no straps. After all, he had nowhere to go. He’d crawled into the corner and huddled by himself, shivering and naked.

     The door opened and in stepped a tall man in white. It was hard to see through his bleary eyes. He looked like the angel of death. When he closed in, Sam scrambled back further into the wall and began to hyperventilate.

     The man stooped down and peered over his glasses. His black hair was peppered with gray. “What are you doing in the corner, Samuel?”

     “Keep…keep away…”

     “You’ll catch your death, you know. You should be in bed.” He reached for Sam, who jerked out of his reach. “Ah.” He adjusted his glasses and put on a warm smile. “I apologize. I forget we haven’t been formally introduced. My name is Doctor Hedrick.” He extended a hand to shake. Sam didn’t take it. “Right. Well, before you judge me you should know that I’m here to keep you alive. And I fixed up your other self after his nasty fall, so you should know that I’m very good at what I do.”

     No answer. But Sam did look him over, study him.

     “Please. I’ll be punished severely if you die, so this is in both of our best interests.”

     Again, he extended his hand. Sam considered his options and wondered if this was a trustworthy face. After all, Kevin hadn’t wanted to be here. Calavicci didn’t. He could be just another prisoner.

     But in the end, Sam was just very tired. He slowly took his hand and was pulled to his feet. Using the other man for support, he led him over to a bed—a proper bed—and laid him down.

     He’d forgotten what it felt like to have some small comfort. The soft sheets felt rough against his knots and bruises. As the other man began to clean his wounds, he fought to stay awake.

     “They should’ve paced themselves better,” Hedrick commented clinically, “But I think perhaps you make them overeager…They’ve wanted you for a long time.” He inclined his head. “They really don’t care for you.”

     Sam’s eyelids drooped. He was so exhausted.

     “Me, I don’t have a horse in this race. I clean up, I do as I’m told.” He stopped for a moment, squinted at Sam. “I suppose I like you. You have a much better temper than your twin.” Sam winced as he sanitized an open wound. “Sorry.” He set down the rag and rested his hands on his cart as he thought. “I think the differences between you two will make an interesting case study. I’m not sure I’ll have another opportunity to experiment on exact duplicates from alternate timelines.”

     Somewhere in Sam’s foggy brain, something registered. His eyes twitched.

     Hedrick returned with a large hypodermic needle. “This is going to sting a little, but I want you to tell me everything. My notes must be accurate.”

     Panic flared up again and Sam’s mind screamed at him to move, but his body had given out on him. He thought he’d received a small respite, but this was just another form of nightmare.

\-------

     “You can show up any time now!” Al yelled at the air, “Damn it Gooshie, why are you never here when I need you?” Back when he was still at the Project, Gooshie was never late for work—he had to actually _leave_ for that to happen—but he had this nasty habit of teleporting from one part of the facility to the next without warning. And now the little hamster was infuriatingly absent again.

     Speaking of absent, Rose was nowhere to be found. He wandered the street searching for her, yet again cursing the invisible hologram that could use the handy control in his palm to track her down.

     Broken footsteps and the clunk of a crutch. Beckett was catching up to him, a self-satisfied smirk stuck on his face. “Talking to yourself?”

     “What the hell are you smiling for? Pick a mood and stick with it.” Al continued on his way in search of something actually useful. Drama hour was over.

     “I did it.”

     “Did what?”

     “Solved the leap.”

     A surprised Al jerked to a halt. Beckett nearly ran into him. “What?”

     “I talked Rose out of joining the gang.” Beckett spread out his hands excitedly. “No gang, no robbery!”

     Eyes wide, Al temporarily forgot everything that had transpired between them. “Oh my god, that’s great! She’s gonna be okay!”

     “Yeah…” Beckett nodded in agreement and stared into the distance thoughtfully. “She’s gonna be okay…”

     Al wasn’t sure he’d ever seen this expression on this other Sam’s face. One of hope, pride, empathy. It dawned on him that this leap had changed from just a mission to something that genuinely mattered to him. _Someone_ that genuinely mattered, and a complete stranger. “You really care about her…don’t you?”

     Beckett paused, clearing his throat nervously. “Yeah, well, uh…I had to change her mind if we’re going to get this thing over with.” 

     Al nodded. “Well…it’s a good thing she heard from Eugene anyway.”

     “Yeah.” Beckett suddenly found the ground very interesting.

     “There’s just one problem.”

     “What?”

     “We’re not leaping.”

     They turned to each other and pondered what was left to do when at long last, the hologram cometh.

     The image of the door flickered in and out as Gooshie stepped through. He looked exhausted, his hair mussed from having run his fingers through it too much. “Admiral Calavicci. Doc—er, Mr. Beckett.” His voice warbled electronically.

     “Where the hell have you been?” both leapers asked. They exchanged a look.

     “No time—we’ve run into an issue trying to get the equipment to sync the leap and it's causing some unusual interference.” His image warped for a moment like an old television before stretching back into place.

     "New issues?" Al repeated worriedly.

     If Gooshie caught what he asked, he didn't elaborate. “We’re draining enough power as it is, but I had to warn you that we collected the data and the hold-up happens in two hours!”

     Beckett straightened up, his previous excitement deflating. “She still goes?”

     “No—it seems that changed.” Gooshie smacked the handlink, which caused him to switch off and back on again. “Now Rose doesn’t go, but the robbery still takes place. At a store called Fred’s Groceries. Only this time, it’s Francine Valter who ends up shot and killed…by Annette Fisher.”

     “Francine,” Al repeated, “As in…Fran’s Foxes, Francine?”

     “That’s correct.” This time, his image faded to a thin transparency. “Oh, we’re running out of power—You should know one more thing. Fran wasn’t very happy with Rose backing out of the gang." He frowned sadly. "They sent her to the hospital.”

     That was all it took. Without waiting for anything further, Beckett rushed away to go find her.

     “Hey, wait for—” Al cut himself off and turned his attention back to Gooshie. He wanted to see Rose too, but he didn’t know how much time he had to warn Gooshie about the danger within their midst. “Gooshie, don’t fade out on me! I gotta tell you something!”

     “Can’t hear…breaking up…” Gooshie was nearly gone, his voice almost indistinguishable.

     “Don’t tell Edward St. John ANYTHING! He’s a double agent!”

     Gooshie squinted and mouthed something unheard. Then, disappeared completely.

     “Gooshie! GOOSHIE!”

     But he wasn’t coming back this time.

     “Shit!” Al spun in a circle, hand over his mouth. He had no idea if his warning had gone through or what St. John did or didn’t know, nor, it seemed, if the leap was going to work at all with these new problems at the Project. And now someone else was dead, Rose was seriously hurt, and his “partner” had just left him here. Cursing to himself, he hurried after him.

\-------

     When they arrived at the hospital, he furiously stepped up behind Beckett after once again having him wander off. “You know, you can’t just ditch me every time—”

     He stopped. She looked so much worse than he thought she’d be. Bruises dotted her eyes and swollen cheek, her arm in a cast. Suddenly everything he had to complain about left him.

     Beckett was the first one to get closer. It wasn’t the worst injuries he’d seen, but somehow this was harder to look at. She opened her eyes and blearily saw him.

     “Hi…”

     He wasn’t sure what to say. He thought this time, he’d really helped someone. But because of him, because of what he’d told her, she was here. Just like he’d done before. “…Hi.”

    Then…something unexpected. Through her battered face, her swollen eyes crinkled in a triumphant smile. Lifting her cast, she stated proudly, “Look at me. I was a hero.”

     Beckett blinked and shook his head, perplexed. “But they…they put you in this bed.” He frowned and bowed his head with shame. “You lost…because of me.”

     “What are you talking about?” He looked up. She shook her head. “I didn’t lose anything. I got myself back.” Her brow crinkled; she cocked her head. “Didn’t you?”

     For a long time, Beckett couldn’t respond. How could she say that when this had happened? When she’d done “the right thing” and been rewarded with this. What was the point? He’d seen for himself that the world belongs to those who take it. And if you’re weak, well, you’re dead.

     Except, Rose wasn’t dead. She existed again for the first time.

     _I never said it would be easy._

She wasn’t dead, and neither was Fran. This leap wasn’t over. He wouldn’t create another Caroline Lane.

     With determination, he clenched his fist and lightly hit his thigh. “No, I haven’t gotten me back yet. But I’m going to.” And he quickly exited the room.

     Rose’s brow crinkled. What did that mean?

\-------

     Beckett called over his shoulder toward Al, who had wandered further down the hall away from Rose’s door. “Are you coming?”

     “No.”

     “Hm?”

     “I said no.”

     Stopping, Beckett turned around and saw Al standing with his fists balled at his sides. For the first time, he saw how angry he was. “Why the hell not?”

     “I’m not doing it anymore.”

     “Doing what?”

     Al threw up his hands. “This whole leap! I’m done with it!” He began to pace wildly. “First Sam disappears, then I find out we’ve had a _rat_ in our project this whole time, we lose contact, the Project doesn't even know if they're gonna get us where we wanna go, then Rose ends up here, and now we’re expected to help the sleaze who put her there! And I’m not gonna do it anymore! I’m through with saving people who don’t deserve it!”

     Incredulous, Beckett traced his steps back. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Weren’t you the one who told me that for once, I had to be the good guy?”

     Al shifted his stance and squinted one eye. “I thought _you_ were just doing what you needed to do to ‘get this thing over with’?”

     “So? Do you want to stay here forever?”

     “That's bull and you know it!” Al gave an exaggerated shrug. He didn’t care anymore. “It doesn’t matter what we do! Success has nothing to do with leaping! And as far as I’m concerned, this broad can eat it. And as soon as she does, we’re outta here. So let’s just sit tight, let the leap take over, and hope Gooshie doesn't screw it up.”

     Beckett shot him a look of death. “We can’t do that.”

     “Why not?”

     “Because it’s wrong!” Beckett exploded, advancing like a wild dog. He dropped his arms in exasperation. “Is that what you want to hear? Fine, I’ll say it! If we let someone die, even someone terrible, then we’re no better than the people from my project. We don’t get to decide who’s worth saving.”

     Al turned away, hand over his eyes. He took a deep breath, conflicted. He knew he was being unreasonable, but the temptation to give up was too strong.

\-------

     When the hammer cracked into Sam’s face again, he hardly felt it this time. His body was in shock. Glassy eyes stared up at the ceiling, too exhausted to fight but unable to fall asleep thanks to whatever new concoction he’d been given.

     St. John rested the hammer on his shoulder. Taking immense satisfaction in finally getting hands dirty, he held nothing back. “You know what the best part of all of this is, Samuel?”

     Sam could barely keep breathing, much less answer.

     “This is just the beginning. You and I are going to be friends for a very long time.”

     The hammer swung down again.

\-------

     That must have been some argument they were having. Rose heard them in the hallway, muffled and unintelligible, before they'd disappeared. She hoped it wasn’t over her.

     She thought over what he’d said before, how much it meant to her. She hoped he found the same peace that she had made.

     More voices outside. A man, and woman, and a nurse. “Yes, we heard Eugene Walsh was just here? We’ve been out of our minds looking for him. We’re his children.”

     “I’m sorry, he just left.”

     “Do you know where he went?”

     “He didn’t say.”

     “I see…well, if he comes back, please give us a call. He’s not well.”

     “Does he need medical attention?”

     "Well, we hate to admit it, him being our father…but he’s been having delusions for quite some time. We think it’s best for everyone that he be committed and placed somewhere safe.”

     “Oh my…”

     Rose’s mouth fell open. They were going to take him away.

\-------

     The air in Fred’s groceries was rife with tension. What should have been a fun night had turned into a real buzzkill. As Fran entered the store followed by her two flunkies, Annette trailed behind with a bad feeling in her stomach.

     Fran noticed this and gritted her teeth. Grabbing her by the arm, she yanked her closer and whispered, “Hey, you mind looking less suspicious? You might as well have a sign on your head that says ‘call the cops.’”

     “Ow! Stop grabbing me!” Annette hissed, pulling away and rubbing her arm, “I just think we shouldn’t have done that to Rose…”

     Fran rolled her eyes. “Rose made her decision; she had to deal with the consequences.”

     “We didn’t need to beat her up.”

     One of the others smacked Annette over the head. “Did anyone ask you?”

     “Can I help you ladies?” A helpful clerk made her way over to them.

     Caught by surprise, Fran reached for the gun. She’d been itching to use it since Rose had decided to piss her off. Annette, however, had decided today was the day she grew a spine. As Fran pulled the gun out, she reached out and smacked it from her hands. The gun flew to the ground and went off with a deafening crack.

     The bullet barely missed Fran as Al yanked her out of the way. A stack of cans exploded and collapsed, leaking soup onto the floor. Fran stared at Al in shock.

     “Oh boy…" Al realized how close that had been too as he stared at the tomato soup.

     “I’m calling the police!” The clerk ran toward the back.

     Annette looked absolutely horrified at what had almost happened. “Oh my—”

     “You coulda killed me!” Fran roared, jerking herself away from Al and shoving him back. She stooped down for the gun, only for it to be grabbed last second by Beckett. She stared up at him, bedraggled.

     For a brief second, Al wasn’t sure what he was going to do. Beckett stared down at Fran with hard eyes, gun in hand, angry that she had been so ungrateful. Instantly they were back in a field by a tree and Al grew fearful at the painful memory. He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. Beckett always did this. He always fell short of the false promises he made. But damn if he didn’t believe him this time.

     Beckett pocketed the gun. Slowly, he reached out his hand to Fran, who stared at him with wide eyes. “Get up. This is your second chance.”

     After a moment, Fran reached out a shaking hand and took it. Beckett helped her to her feet and she stared, too baffled to say anything. Beckett’s stare burrowed deep into her. It will be okay.

     He looked away and saw Al watching him with a tight grin.

\-------

     After waiting for the police, explaining what had happened, and seeing the girls off, Al wondered what eventually became of them. There were no guarantees that Fran turned her life around, but thanks to them, she at least had the opportunity. And that’s all they could really give her. After that, it was up to her to decide.

     He couldn’t believe he’d almost let her die. He was too caught up in all of his own troubles that he’d lost who he was, but he would’ve never forgiven himself if he’d gone through with it. Never in a million years would he have pegged this Sam as someone who would be his moral compass. His unlikely companion shuffled ahead of him toward the shelter, head down in self-imposed isolation.

     Al stopped. Clearing his throat, his scratched temple self-consciously. “Thank you.”

     Beckett looked back, thrown for a moment. “For what?”

     “For making me go. You, uh…you were right.”

     A beat as Beckett tried to figure out how to respond. Turning back, he shrugged and leaned on his crutch with a cocky smirk. “Haven’t I been telling you that from the beginning?”

     “Yeah.” Al chuckled softly and put his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, you did…old friend.”

     The color drained from Beckett’s face from the sheer force of emotion that he felt. He looked away and blinked rapidly, running his hand through his hair. Quietly, he asked, “Why…” He stopped himself, questioned whether he should ask what he wanted to ask, and then changed his mind. “…haven’t we leaped?”

     That was a good question, actually.

     “ _There_ you are, Father!”

     From seemingly out of nowhere emerged Janey and Duncan Walsh, eyes full of false remorse. Behind them was an ambulance. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

     “What’s this all about?” Al eyed the ambulance suspiciously.

     “This is between us and our father,” Duncan said dismissively. As he spoke, two orderlies stepped out, immediately putting Al and Beckett on edge.

     “Now I know why we haven’t leaped…” Beckett murmured.

     “You aren’t well, Father,” Janey said sadly, stepping closer, “You need to go somewhere where you’ll be taken care of, provide what we can’t…”

     “I’m perfectly fine."

     “It’s for your own good.”

     As the orderlies closed in, Beckett backed away. As much as he hated it, he would be useless in a fight against them. How humiliating. It used to be he could’ve wiped the floor with them, and now he was reduced to hiding like a coward. 

     Suddenly, Al was between them. “You’re _not_ taking him anywhere,” he stated emphatically.

     “He’s _our_ father,” Janey hissed.

     “And you have no right to—Hey! Get offa me!” One of the orderlies had grabbed Al, holding him back as the other snatched Beckett.

     “Al!” Beckett struggled with the orderly, managing to elbow him in the face before stepping on his leg wrong and howling.

     Al pulled himself free, only to be knocked down to the ground by a cheap blow by Duncan. “You bastards! You aren’t taking him!”

     “Oh yes we are!”

     Duncan held Al back as the orderlies grabbed Beckett, dragging him toward the ambulance. “Al! Al, help me!”

     “Look, he doesn’t even know who you are.”

     “You can’t do this!”

     “We can and we will,” Janey sniffed with a self-satisfied smirk.

     “You want to take him, you’re gonna have to go through us.”

     Al, Beckett, the orderlies, and Eugene’s children stopped as they saw Rose step out of the darkness. And then someone else. And another. And another, until a small crowd had formed behind her. As she started to speak, the crowd continued to grow.

     “Eugene Walsh stays.”

     Growing nervous, the orderlies let Beckett go. Duncan and Janey could only stare, mouth agape. It seemed like the whole town was there.

     “What is this?” Duncan asked apprehensively.

     Rose stepped forward, still a little wobbly but no less determined. “Everyone here has been helped by Eugene in some way. Either by giving them food, shelter, support, a friendly smile, a story.”

     “He gave me money when I couldn’t feed my family.”

     “He brought back my dog.”

     “He helped me find my son.”

     “He beat me at chess!” A rumble of laughter. Rose smiled victoriously.

     “It doesn’t matter what you say,” Janey sneered, “We’re his children. We know what’s best.”

     “You take him away and we’ll fight it,” Rose told them firmly, “Every single one of us will testify that he’s of sound mind. But first, you’ll have to get past us.”

     The crowd spread out across the road, blocking the ambulance’s path and forming a human chain. The Walsh children stared, bewildered at this incredible display.

     Standing beside Beckett, Al grinned with satisfaction. “Eugene stays.”

     “Eugene stays!” Rose shouted. Someone else shouted it, and then another, until it became a chant.

     Eugene's kids were completely stumped, but no one was as overwhelmed as Beckett. He gaped at the crowd chanting for him, slack-jawed and dumbfounded. This entire time, he was too overcome to do anything but stand there.

     Casting a sideways glance at him, Al smirked knowingly and placed a hand on his shoulder.

     Nothing could describe what Beckett was feeling, the outpouring of kindness from strangers, like nothing he’d ever seen. He hadn’t known what humans were capable of until now, hadn’t grasped the depth of human compassion. Eugene had touched so many lives, and those lives touched others, a ripple that suddenly made his own life much bigger. It was beautiful.

     “Eugene stays!” From the sea of faces, a young Sam Beckett stood out. He threw his fist in the air and joined in the support.

     Tears welled up in Beckett's eyes. He could never repay this kindness.

     As Janey and Duncan swore and got back in their car to hide, Rose broke from the crowd and rushed over. “We did it! You’re staying!” Beckett smiled sadly through his tears, and her own faltered. “You can’t...can you?”

     Sniffing, Beckett wiped his face with the back of his hand. “You’ll be okay, Rose.”

     “It’s Sally,” Rose—Sally corrected him. They exchanged a meaningful look.

     “Sally,” Beckett repeated.

     “Eugene isn’t going anywhere,” Al pointed out, “You guys saved him. So no matter what happens, he’ll be here thanks to you.”

     “Eugene is a good man,” Sally said, eyes not leaving Beckett, “But I only see Sam here.”

     Beckett’s eyes widened at the name. Sam.

     He smiled gratefully. He’d never forget her.

     Placing his hand on Al’s shoulder, he turned to him and nodded. It was time to leap.

     God help them if it worked.

     Their vision turned blue and Wakefield disappeared.


	6. Chapter 6

     Leaping was different this time. Al felt a strange sensation, like his body was being pulled in two different directions. Two separate times called to him, tugging at his limbs, his heart urging him to follow the other path. But an outlying force grabbed him, guided him—and then he saw it was Beckett. The forces tried to pull them apart, but he held tight until the blue grew brighter and brighter and their bodies disappeared into atoms.

     He reformed and his vision was abruptly filled with red.

     Red walls, red ceiling, red doors. He blinked as he realized he was looking at a close copy of Project Quantum Leap. But here, the walls vibrated with an unheard sound that set him on edge. This must be the place.

     It had worked. Damn, it had worked! Once again, Gooshie had pulled through at the last possible moment.

     Al had imagined many times what this place might look like, but he didn't expect it to be so much like home. It was eerie how similar everything appeared, except he knew what a horror house this place was. The entirety of the last leap he couldn't wait to get here, but now he couldn't wait to get out.

     Within seconds of leaping in, Beckett grimaced and veered to the right with no crutch again. But this time, someone grabbed him. No, this place wouldn’t have him again! He tensed up and pulled back, ready to fight—only to realize it was Al. He stopped, surprised and embarrassed. “…thanks.”

     Al nodded. “I take it this is home?”

     Suddenly, Beckett shoved him away and stood up straight. Despite the obvious pain on his face, he did his damnedest to stay upright and unbothered. Taking his cue, Al also attempted to seem casual and…be doing whatever the person he leaped into should be doing.

     Two men in gray jumpsuits marched down the hall. They only exchanged the briefest of glances before passing by. Once they were out of sight, Beckett sighed deeply and fell against the wall.

     Al looked down, realizing they were wearing the same uniforms. A taser was holstered at his hip. These were guards, and now so were they. At this...Bizarro Project.

     Next to him, Beckett's mind was screaming at him to get out. Not only had he breathed free air and still ended up back here, but he'd done so willingly. Either he was the dumbest man alive or soon to be dead, and he was sure he'd run out of lives at this point. God, why had he agreed to come here?

     But, strangely, some part of him was...happy? No, that wasn't the word...hopeful. He knew Calavicci was near, and he'd see him soon. He was worth this.

     Worth giving up his family. Worth saving. Maybe, Beckett thought, he was too.

     He began crawling along the wall. “We don’t have much time before Lothos detects something is off. We need to move.”

     “This is…this is exactly like Project Quantum Leap…” Al murmured, stunned, as he followed him. This was strange.

     “You noticed that, huh?”

     “Only…” Al knit his brows as he tried to remember. Damn his swiss-cheesed brain. He pointed behind him. “…I’m pretty sure the living quarters are that way."

     Beckett halted and looked back at him darkly. “He won’t be there if the Director found out.”

     “We don’t know that he did,” Al insisted defensively.

     “We can’t waste time,” Beckett gritted through his teeth, “Our best chance is to try the most likely place first. Now where do you think that is?”

     Al’s first instinct was furious denial, but the truth was it was a lie he couldn’t completely convince himself of. He had no idea if Sam was okay or what Gooshie might have unwittingly revealed. Finally, with great reluctance, “Fine. We’ll try your way first.”

     He hoped he was wrong.

\-------

     Much of their journey was eerily quiet, their footsteps overlaying the constant mechanical thrum that emanated from the walls. Al had gotten used to it at Project Quantum Leap, but here there was no life mixed into the wires, no sense of wonder and discovery, just an oppressive invisible eye and the smell of fear. Each guard they passed kept a similar silence, continuing their watch and wringing out every drop of sweat from the two leapers who wondered when they would eventually see through their disguises. Al had been a soldier for a long time, but he'd never felt more out of place in a uniform.

     They were close now. Soon Sam would be safe, and then...well, they'd worry about the next step when they got there. By now, Al had gotten used to flying by the seat of his pants.

     "You there."

     They came to a halt, their hearts beating so loudly they could hear each other. Al glanced at Beckett and saw his neutral face flicker. They knew that voice.

     "Turn around when I speak to you."

     Obediently, they did an about-face toward Zoey.

     Al had only seen her face once, and that was back when he was a hologram. But he was very familiar with how vindictive she was, and she demanded respect. Making her wait did not improve her usually congenial mood. The bullet Sam once put through the chest probably didn't either. Did anything ever keep these leapers down?

     Suddenly, everything came flooding back to Beckett. The decades of torture, her hands all over him, her intimate knowledge of how to make him suffer. How could he fool her when she knew him so well? It was over. They were dead. How naive he was to think he could ever pull this off!

     Would he be placed in his prison again? End up like the doctor Sam? Or were they simply done with him now that they had the real thing? They had no use for a broken copy.

     Al realized Beckett was choking. Don't fall apart now, kid! To cover for them, he took a shot in the dark. "Sorry...ma'am."

     He could feel Beckett shoot him a glance as Zoey raised an eyebrow. Jeez, he hoped he hadn't said something out the ordinary.

     But Zoey just seemed amused. "Ma'am...I like it." Twisting her fingers together, she strolled toward them with purpose. "I always appreciate a lower life form with ambition."

     Beside him, Beckett's leg was shaking as he tried to hide to pain from his face. Before Zoey could notice, Al furtively slid closer and locked arms to give him support. When the woman came to a stop, she paused for a moment as they tried to keep their expressions dispassionate.

     It was uncertain if she was suspicious. Al's fingers dug deep into Beckett. Beckett swallowed down the terror he felt.

     At last, she continued. "Clean up. Room 17. Now."

     They nodded and she walked away. As soon as she was out of earshot, Al breathed a sigh of relief. "Jeez louise, that was close..." But Beckett didn't share his ease, he could tell from his face. "You okay?"

     Beckett's mouth was hard, his brows knit together grimly. "Room 17 is where we're headed."

\-------

     The exterior to Room 17 looked the same as any other door in this place, but Al dreaded what he might find behind it. _Clean up._ If Sam was indeed here then Al knew he was in trouble, but he couldn't afford to be scared right now. He couldn't even afford to be angry, and boy was he livid thinking of those slimeballs putting their hands on Sam. But that wasn't going to help them. Now he had to be with his fleet and retrieve the POWs as efficiently as possible. His focus had to be on getting out and getting out fast, so he steeled himself as the door raised. No matter what he saw, he had to keep moving.

     But he wasn't prepared. He wasn't prepared at all.

     He had to catch himself on the wall. It was the camps all over again, every sense inundated with malice and cruelty. He gaze followed the blood on the floor to the table in the middle with his friend on top, mangled and broken.

     And Al's. Blood. Boiled.

     "Get him some clothes," he seethed, barely contained.

     "I told you he'd--"

     "I said get him some clothes!" Al barked again. This time, Beckett silently hobbled away toward the supply closet.

     Now that he'd found his feet, nothing could stop Al as he ran toward Sam. Reaching the slab, he could see his wounds glisten in the clinical light. He was unconscious, his face and body swollen and bruised. Leaning in close to his mouth he could hear him jaggedly breathing. Thank god. He was alive. "Sam?" He took him by the shoulders and gently shook him. "Sam, can you hear me?"

     Nothing. He ducked under the table to untie his arms and grimaced. Barbed wire was wrapped around his wrists and up his arms. Standing up straight, he glanced around the room and found a box of...tools. Pushing away the thoughts of what they were for, he jogged over and found a pair of wire cutters. Slowly, carefully, he began to cut the wire away.

     Sam's fingers twitched. A wince from above. Al pulled the last of it away and hurried to his feet. "Sam? Hey, you with me?"

     Gradually, Sam's unswollen eye cracked open. It rolled across the ceiling until it found Al above him.

     Despite himself, Al's face broke into a small smile. "I'm here, Sam. I'm gonna get you out."

     Rather than look relieved at his rescue, Sam instead furrowed his brows and shook his head despairingly. "No..." he choked, "D-didn't work..."

     "What?"

     "No one...No one's coming..."

     Al stared in confusion as he tried to understand him. "What're you talking about? _I'm_ here. This is the moment, Sam! Rescue's arrived!" He was attempting to raise Sam's spirits, but he didn't even seem to know who he was. God, what did they do to him?

     Beckett had found a crutch and a white jumpsuit, but as he drew nearer, he had to stop. He saw himself on that table--his enemy--and felt no satisfaction. There was a time when he would've seen this as justice, but now he was filled with disgust. This was the worst he'd seen here in someone still living; he could tell by the sheer brutality just how much joy was taken in his suffering.

     No one deserved this. Not even Sam Beckett.

     Al was pulling him into a sitting position. As soon as he moved him, his back arched and he howled in pain. This was doing them no good just standing there. Beckett pushed aside his feelings and approached with the jumpsuit. "Is he gonna be able to walk?"

     "I don't know," Al answered as he reached for the jumpsuit and began to pull it onto his half-conscious friend, "He's...I don't know."

     "Find you..." Sam mumbled.

     "We'd better hope he can, or we're gonna end up in here with him." Beckett leaned in toward Sam, forcefully grabbing him by the chin. "You got that? You have to suck it up and try or we're all screwed."

     As soon as they touched, Beckett's leaping persona was pulled away and his true face was visible to Sam. His brow twitched and slowly, a look of recognition washed over him. As the hand was slapped away, he rolled his head toward the man beside him.

     "Leave him alone, or I'll---" Sam's hand shot out and grabbed Al's arm, cutting him off. Al looked at him, astonished.

     Sam squinted. Hesitated. "...Al?"

     He knew which it one it was. His friend. His Al. "Yeah, Sam," Al answered with a reassuring grin, "It's me."

     An overwhelming relief threatened to break him down as Sam took in what was happening. His body sagged and he almost collapsed again, but Al caught him.

     "You're going home, Sam. You're going home."

     Sam was so close. Al's heart broke with happiness for him.

     _Clunk-shoom_. Gooshie rushed in excitedly. "We did it! It worked! It--" The moment he saw Sam, his color left him and he looked sick. "Oh...oh no..."

     "Gooshie!" Al shouted, "It's about time you showed up!"

     "I'm sorry, Admiral, I--"

     "Never mind the apology; we're low on time." Al shook his head and finished zipping up Sam's suit. "Before you go disappearing on us again, there's something you gotta know. I don't know what you've told Edward St. John but don't let him in on _anything else._ You hear me? He's a double agent."

     Gooshie's face scrunched up, baffled. " _What?_ "

     "He's our Project Director," Beckett clarified.

     "I don't understand...." Gooshie scratched his head.

     "He has some plan involving your project. If you see him, get him out of there somehow."

     "But that doesn't make sense..." Gooshie threw out his hands. "Mr. St. John was the one who helped us correct the problems we were having syncing the leaps. He brought you two here!"

     Now Beckett and Al were pale.

     The door swished open, and in stepped Edward St. John with his little smile. "I thought you'd never get here, Admiral."

     Hook. Line. Sinker.

\-------

     Damn it! He _knew_ it had been too easy! Beckett's fist slammed into the wall of the Holding Chamber. He'd been here enough times to know he wouldn't even leave a dent, but he had to vent somehow.

     So here he was. Again. Just where he always ended up. He pressed his forehead against the wall and closed his eyes, fighting the crushing weight of defeat. He'd _tried_. _He'd tried._

He'd given up his parents, his brother and sister. And for what?

"Why'd...you come back...?" Sam was slumped on the floor against the wall, hands limp in his lap. He was doing considerably less punching.

     Slowly, Beckett pushed himself away from the wall and looked over his shoulder. That was the exact question he was asking himself. "Because I didn't want to be stuck on your leaps forever," he shrugged off. The other man just stared.

     He knew why he came back.

     Beckett frowned at the floor. "Because--Because of Al." A pause. "...but now I think it was you too. And someone wise once told me that changing your life starts with doing one good thing."

     One good, unselfish act. Sam understood.

     He furrowed his brow. "They're gonna kill him..."

     "No." Beckett shook his head, turning around and stomping toward him. "If they'd wanted to kill him, they wouldn't have gone to all this trouble. They need him for something." Grunting, he slid down next to Sam. "Something they didn't take into account before. They didn't have a problem with me trying to kill him in New York; you were the only one off the hit list."

     "The...the plan...?" Sam's pain-addled brain struggled to focus.

     "Yeah, the plan. The one involving the data we stole..." Beckett's eyes widened and he straightened up. "...that we needed Al's access codes for. At some point the Director must have figured out that's what he was missing! That's why he was snooping around for so long. And when he realized we'd switched places, he knew this was an opportunity to get him here!" Grabbing the sides of his face, he wracked his brain. "But what does that get him? He already has your technology. He had access to everyone there. So what information does he need?"

     As the realization dawned on Sam, his mouth slowly dropped as he stared at the opposite wall. His expression wasn't lost on Beckett.

     "What is it?"

     "It's...it's the leaps...he wants to know the past leaps..."

     "Why the hell would he want to know about those?"

     Turning to face him again, Sam's beaten face looked even more horrified. "...he wants me to undo them."

     The Director didn't just hate Project Quantum Leap. He hated everything they stood for. He was going to finish what his Master had started and not just stop their meddling, but unravel every single bit of good they'd done.

     "We're gonna need some more backup."

\-------

     This was not the first time Al had found himself strapped down and at someone else's mercy, and while it was tempting to retreat from those awful times, it did put him at an advantage. He'd survived a lot longer and in worse conditions; he could handle this. And one thing he'd learned out there was how to hide his weakness. He stared down that slime Edward St. John the Fifth and his lackey in white with a look that had made other officers wet themselves. He was in full control.

     "Don't be so cross, Albert," St. John sighed, "Can't we be friends again?"

     "Don't flatter yourself. We were never friends."

     St. John shrugged and conceded. "You're right. I never much cared for you." He stepped closer as the man behind him began to sort through his tools. "To be honest, I never even thought of you that much. To me...you were just Doctor Beckett's sidekick."

     Al snorted. "Yeah? Well I'd rather be Doctor Beckett's sidekick than Senator Weitzman's bootlicker."

     "Weitzman is an idiot who lost control of your project a long time ago. His ambition is so small I almost pity him." St. John stopped and raised his eyebrows. "I don't suppose you'd like to show him up by giving me your access codes?"

     "The day I give you my access codes is the day hell freezes over."

     St. John grinned. "I was hoping you'd say that." Behind him, the man in white lifted a scalpel toward the light above them and it glinted dangerously.

     Al swallowed but kept his cool. "You think you're scary?" he asked mockingly, "I was in Vietnam for eight years, and I didn't tell those nozzles anything either."

     The other man didn't break his amused demeanor. "Samuel said he wouldn't tell me anything." He folded his arms in front of him, reminiscing fondly. "Eventually, he was _begging_ us to ask something. Anything to make it stop." A memory returned to him. "He asked for you."

     Al clenched his jaw and fumed silently. It took everything in him not to explode. He was so angry he felt he could break out of these straps and strangle the bastard. 

     "It would be in your best interest to cooperate, but it doesn't matter to me if you don't. One way or the other, I'll get what I want."

     So this was how he was going to play it, huh? Al almost laughed. St. John was confident, but he had no idea what he was dealing with.

     "That's a scary speech and all," Al said sarcastically, rolling his neck, "But I'm not worried about you."

     This piqued St. John's curiosity. "Oh?"

     Al leaned as close as he could, a direct, defiant threat. "We have two Sam Becketts. _You_ should be scared."

\-------

     Two guards were sent into the Holding Chamber to investigate the mysterious disabling of the cameras. While Lothos could still hear them, she didn't much like prisoners sneaking around making her look foolish. She had a reputation, you know. And if she was upset, so was the Director.

     When they came inside, they found an empty room, a deconstructed keypad, and a modified speaker playing their pre-recorded voices. The two Sam Becketts were gone.

     Lothos was _not_ happy.

\-------

     Unaware of the shitshow that was going down all around him, Calavicci was cleaning toilets and feeling sorry for himself.

     Someone had really dropped the ball here. Him, the other Sam, whatever higher power there may or may not be. But whoever it was, he owed them a swift kick in the ass. Hadn't he suffered enough? Why did he have to feel so damn bad about this other kid when his own partner was gone forever?

     He couldn't imagine continuing like this without the Sam Beckett he knew, but at the same time, he hoped they never found him. He hoped he was happy, wherever he was. He deserved to be free. God, he just...he just missed him.

     Leaning back on his haunches, he dropped his toilet brush and looked up sadly. "Look, I don't know if there's Someone out there or if I just lost it for awhile, but listen. I did what you wanted me to do." He shrugged a single shoulder. "I tried anyway. I...mended my ways or whatever you want to call it. So now it's your turn. Wherever the kid is, please..." He closed his eyes and swallowed, tearing up. "...please just don't let him forget me."

     "Al!"

     The frantic call sent Calavicci spinning around and falling on his ass. Into the bathroom came two men. One was Sam, half-alive and all sorts of different colors, and the other, awkwardly supporting him, was a guard exhaustedly using a crutch for additional support.

     Panting, Beckett still managed a sheepish smile. "We've come to rescue you."

     Bewildered, Calavicci screwed up his face and tried to figure out if this was a dream. Maybe it was the crutch, maybe it was the way he spoke...but somehow, he just _knew._ "...Sam?"

     "It's me."

     Once again, Calavicci looked toward the bathroom ceiling. He couldn't believe that worked! He scrambled to his feet as Sam was placed carefully on the ground and Beckett caught his breath. Without hesitation, Calavicci barreled into him and held him tightly. He yelled in surprise, nearly caught off balance.

     "Sam! Oh my God!" Calavicci pulled back as the electricity transformed the unfamiliar guard into his partner. Then he held him even closer, shutting his eyes in fear this wasn't real. His initial shock had worn off and his voice softened with frightened release. "I thought I'd never see you again..."

     Beckett's arms wrapped around him and he stiffened for a moment in surprise. They were together.

     This was what Beckett had come for. Just to know Calavicci was okay. To keep his promises for once in his life. He'd needed him more than he could say.

     From the other side of the bathroom, struggling to stay upright, Sam watched the two men embrace in silence. There was what he'd almost taken away, and there was him and Al. A bond that couldn't be broken even through time itself.

     Suddenly, Calavicci remembered that this was wildly out of the normal. He pulled away and his gaze darted back and forth between the doubles. "What the hell is going on? How did you get here?"

     "It's a long story, and we shouldn't be in one place for too long." Beckett grinned and grabbed him by the shoulders. "So what do you say I tell you on the way out of here?"

     With renewed energy, Calavicci picked up his brush, chucked it into the bucket, and slammed the stall shut. "I say let's get the hell goin'!"

\-------

     Gooshie wasn't good under a lot of pressure. Or a medium amount of pressure. Or a teeny tiny, microscopic amount of pressure. How he managed to graduate MIT--much less land in a top secret time travel project--was an eternal mystery, and yet here he was with the knowledge that not only were his Project Directors stuck in an evil project similar to their own, but their Director had been secretly infiltrating their project for months. This wasn't just a lot of pressure, it was a volcanic eruption!

     "Oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy..." Wringing his hands together, he power-walked down the hall and tried not to arouse suspicion. Badly. After all, he was the Project Observer now. He had to be an example. There was no reason to incite panic in anyone until they had all the facts straight. He'd simply go to Doctor Fuller's office, apprise her of the situation, and allow her to tell him how to proceed. Yes indeedy he could definitely handle this.

     "Hiya Gooshie!"

     "AH!" Gooshie jumped so high he nearly hit the ceiling. Tina screamed too, taken aback by his reaction. "T-Tina! W-What are you doing here?!"

     "What am I doing here?" Tina repeated incredulously, hand against her chest, "I work here! What's gotten into you, Gooshie? You trying to give me a heart attack?"

     Don't cause a scene, Gooshie reminded himself. Tell her there's important business to be done with Doctor Fuller and go on your way. Yes, that would work perfectly.

     "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Gooshie blurted out, eyes even buggier than usual as he grabbed the sides of his head, "It's just that D-Doctor Beckett and Admiral Calavicci's lives are in d-danger and I have to tell Doctor Fuller that Mr. St. John is actually the Director of the evil P-Project who'sbeenspyingonusthewholetime-- _oh noooo!_ "

     _"What?!"_

"I wasn't supposed to tell you that!"

     _"What?!"_

"Forget I said anything!" Hands still on his head, he wheeled around and attempted to continue down the hall, but Tina grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him back.

     "Hold it right there, mister!" She put her hands on her hips, demanding an explanation. "Who is doing what now?"

     "Mr. St. John is the evil Project Director!"

     Tina's jaw hit the floor. "Eddie?! No way!"

     "Yes way," Gooshie confirmed grimly, "And he's got s-something planned, so we need to tell Doctor Fuller quick." Once again he tried to leave, but Tina clacked her heels at double speed to step in front of him, putting out her hands.

     "Wait a minute. That's a lot to accuse someone of," she said sensibly, "And don't forget, Senator Weitzman has been breathing down our necks. Before we tell Doctor Fuller--"

     "'We'--?"

     "--don't you think..." Tina bit her lip and shrugged. "Don't you think we should snoop around Eddie's quarters a bit first, see what he's planning?"

     Nope. Gooshie didn't like this suggestion one bit. "I-I think that sounds like a bad idea..."

     "Aw come on," Tina whined, "Our jobs are on the line! If we're wrong, the Big W could give us the boot. Besides, aren't you the least bit curious?" Gooshie was still unsure, squirming like a worm. Pouting, Tina placed her hands over his chest and rubbed. "Please? Do it for me?"

\-------

     "Oh this is great!" Tina exclaimed, jumping and clapping her hands together excitedly, "I always wanted to be a detective. Well, my third grade boyfriend did anyway..." She opened a drawer and crinkled her nose. Everything was disgustingly in order.

     "I d-don't feel right about this..." Gooshie whimpered miserably, lifting up the mattress. As if what? He was hiding dirty magazines under the bed?

     Leaning on the dresser, Tina batted her eyelashes. "Personally, I think you look really sexy right now."

     Gulping, Gooshie turned bright red. Nevertheless, he was flattered. The two of them had had a...somewhat on-again-off-again relationship spanning the last seven years, but he was never really sure where they stood. He was more of a...piece of meat to her, something he was very unused to. Most women thought of him as beef jerky. "Oh...y-you do?"

     "Mm-hm."

     Playing it cool, Gooshie shrugged it off and opened the closet door without looking, assuming he looked very suave. "Well, just call me Detective Gooshie then."

     "Oh _detective..._ " Tina whispered seductively, slinking toward him. "I like it. Remember that summer when we decided to roleplay?"

     He wasn't proud of that particular time in his life, but Gooshie _vividly_ remembered the roleplay. And he wouldn't turn it down again. "You, ummm... liked that, huh?"

     "Oh yeah," Tina purred, hands on his chest again, "You were simply the--BOMB!"

     "I was the bomb?" Gooshie repeated, grinning.

     "No!" Tina shouted, spinning him around and pointing down inside the closet, "A bomb!"

     Sure enough, there was indeed a very large bomb.

     "A bomb!"

     "A bomb!"

     They exchanged a look. In unison: "Oh boy!"

     Crashing to their knees, the two of them crawled closer to inspect it.

     "Oh my God, what do we do?"

     "I-I think we're okay," Gooshie sighed with relief, "It doesn't appear to be activated."

     "Oh thank goodness!" Tina fell on her butt and let out a deep breath. "What was that nutball gonna do? Blow us all up? Yikes!"

     "I think this is enough evidence, isn't it?" Gooshie asked nervously. Tina nodded. "Then we need to go to Doctor Fuller."

     "Like yesterday!"

     Pushing themselves to their feet, Gooshie used the bomb for support without thinking and suddenly heard a beeping noise. His eyes slowly grew as big as saucers.

     "What was that?" asked Tina.

     The two of them stared down at the bomb again, which had begun to count down.

     "...oops."

\-------

     Al wouldn't admit it, but he didn't like the places his mind went being here. Waiting meant prolonging the inevitable, and the inevitable was he was going to be tortured. Old memories began to resurface and try as he did to knock them out, he couldn't fool himself into thinking he was alright. But he had to be. He had to be, or 30 years would be wiped away and he'd be that same shell he'd worked so damn hard to fix into something presentable. He had to be alright for Sam, who was fighting for his life somewhere in this facility. 

     That nozzle Edward St. John had left him to stew in it awhile and now, it seemed his doctor had decided the wait was long enough. Adjusting his glasses clinically, the man approached him with his treasured scalpel.

     "Allow me to properly introduce myself," he said congenially, "My name is Doctor Hedrick. I hope you don't think too badly of me, but I've never had quite so much... freedom to experiment with a patient. As long as you can still speak, anything is on the table. So..." He raised the scalpel, his demeanor as pleasant as any physician during a routine appointment. "...where would you like to begin?"

     Al never really liked any doctor who wasn't Sam, and this guy was no exception. Without letting his fear show, he kept his face neutral. He knew this routine. "Rear Admiral Albert Calavicci, United States Navy, serial number B37 98 42."

\-------

     "So enlighten me," Calavicci said as he shuffled carefully down the corridor with Sam's arm wrapped around his shoulder, "What exactly is the plan here if the other me has already given them the codes?"

     "I don't know." Beckett shrugged, too exhausted to think that far ahead. "We destroy the data somehow."

     "They'd have backup by now; it's not gonna be on one little disc." Calavicci threw out his free hand in frustration. "You'd have to destroy Lothos, and that means getting rid of the whole damn place!"

     "You have any suggestions then?" shot back Beckett snidely. This wasn't helping.

     "N-Nuclear...core..."

     "Huh?"

     It was Sam, head low and just barely managing to speak up. They weren't aware he was even paying attention to the conversation. "The project is powered by...a nuclear core..." He coughed and grimaced, holding his side.

     Understanding what he was getting at, Beckett's eyes widened. "We could overload it, level the place completely!"

     Calavicci scowled. "But that'd be a suicide mission; we'd die in the blast!"

     "Not if it was accessed remotely. We could just use Lothos to relay the message before we got out."

     "Maybe we could send the information through Lothos, but we'd still need to manually trip it. We'd be at ground zero when the thing went kablooey!" Calavicci swiped his hand across himself with finality. "Nuh-uh. No one's overloading anything, you hear me? A few people with some bad luck in history aren't worth our lives!"

     Calavicci had made many steps forward, but he wasn't willing to go quite that far. Beckett was downcast when he realized he was right. This wasn't a feasible option.

     "It's a last resort, okay?" Beckett shot back defensively, raising his hands, "I'm not suggesting we blow ourselves up at the moment. Okay?" Reluctantly, Calavicci backed down and Beckett rolled his shoulders before trudging forward. "Let's just hope you didn't blab."

     None of them wanted to think about that option.

     Calavicci didn't like their odds as it was. There were no guarantees any of them were getting out alive. And by the looks of the Doctor Sam...he'd be the first to go. "We're getting close."

     "Right. We need to get him out of the way."

     "Over here." Calavicci jerked his head over at the door and Beckett went ahead to open it.

     Getting inside meant fighting off guards, meaning Sam, who was pretty much dead weight at this point, was going to sit in a utility closet for awhile. When the doubles had finished placing him inside, Calavicci looked down at him awkwardly. He was a real mess. Who would have thought they'd be saving him?

     "We'll be back," he said, trying to be comforting, "Okay?" Sam rolled his head. Close enough. They slid the door shut and hurried down the hall.

     Unknown to them, stalking in the shadows like a cat, Zoey was watching.

\-------

     Peering around the corner, they spotted two guards outside. No problem, two guards, two of them! Simple. Except for the fact they'd be expecting them seeing as how they had to know both Sams were on the loose now, and one of them had a leg brace and could barely fight anymore. But what other choice did they have?"

     "I take the short one, you take the tall one?" Calavicci suggested.

     "That's a bit obvious, don't you think?"

     "The short one's got more muscles."

     "You're just worried you won't be able to reach the other guy's face," Beckett teased.

     "Who needs to reach his face?" Calavicci narrowed a single eye pointedly. "He ain't wearin' a cup."

     Beckett snorted. "Let's do it like St. Louis. Remember?"

     Calavicci grinned. "I remember."

     "Good. Let's go."

     But before they could move, Calavicci grabbed Beckett's arm and his humor completely vanished. Sincerely, "Be careful, Sam."

     A beat. Beckett's mouth tightened. "You too."

\-------

     Two guards, one tall and one short, stood outside the Disciplinary Chamber. They had been told to keep a lookout for two escaped prisoners, but what they weren't expecting was for two men to wander casually down the hall.

     They grabbed their tasers. Calavicci gave a cheeky wave. "Hi there. We're looking for two really dopey security guards around here. Seen any?"

     Confused, the two guards exchanged a look and then ran forward. Beckett leaned against the wall and threw his crutch across the floor, tripping them up. One landed flat on their face and the other stumbled into Calavicci, who grabbed his taser and promptly knocked him out. Tossing it to Beckett, the other guard was quickly done away with. The two men looked at each other proudly.

      "Just like old times, huh?"

     "You've still got it, Al." Beckett took the taser off of the second guard and tossed it to Calavicci, who traded it for his crutch. 

     "Yeah, not bad for a fossil."

\-------

     "Rear Admiral Albert Calavicci, United States Navy, serial number B37 98 42."

     Oh, Doctor Hedrick was enjoying dragging out this interrogation, it was as if he got off on fear. He hadn't touched Al yet, but he had made a point to put all of his wicked little toys on display. He was wanting this to last a long time.

     "I do wonder..." Hedrick mused, "...how exactly my methods will compare to your previous experiences. Please do tell me in detail."

     Al narrowed his eyes. "Rear Admiral Albert Calavicci, United States Navy, serial number B37 98 42." He didn't think this guy would ever get bored of this foreplay, but he supposed everyone had to blow their load sometime. Finally ready to get started, Hedrick began to close in...

     And then they heard a commotion outside.

\-------

     Tasers in hand, the door slid up and Beckett and Calavicci stepped in ready for a fight. What they found was a whole lot of nothing.

     No more guards, no one to put up a fight. Not even a bloody scene. Al was strapped to the table, gag around his mouth, but to their relief he was unharmed. Not because of his safety, of course, but because that meant he probably hadn't leaked anything. He mumbled something unintelligible.

     Calavicci knew he wouldn't break the whole time. It would take a whole lot more than some hack with a scalpel to get Al Calavicci to talk. Speaking of which, where was he? "I don't like this, Sam." Calavicci glanced up darkly from under his brows. "This is too easy."

     "No kidding." Screw it. They'd come this far. Al's muffled noises became more intense as Beckett rushed over and ripped off the gag. "Alright. What's their trap?"

     "I said, look behind you!"

     A gun cocked. Calavicci barely had time to spin around and see Doctor Hedrick behind him before a shot deafened them.

     "AL!"

     Doctor Hedrick's head began to bleed. Staring blankly, his eyes rolled up and he crumpled to the ground, revealing Zoey with a smoking gun.

     All three men stared in shock as the blood pooled on the floor. Zoey lowered her gun.

     By shooting Hedrick, she'd not just thrown away every privilege she'd earned here, but her very life. The Director hated traitors, and she was very expendable.

     Calavicci was the first to find his voice. "Why...?"

     "You think I didn't know that you saved Alia?" Zoey asked obviously. Calavicci and Beckett were in shock. She'd known their secret the whole time, but why hadn't she said anything? She glanced behind her. "I owed her." Raising an eyebrow pointedly, she said, "It seems the project is suffering some mysterious electrical fires. It would be a shame if our prisoners somehow escaped." And she backed out of the room and vanished.

     Her vendetta with Doctor Beckett didn't extend to the double leapers, it seemed. She'd gotten what she wanted. And the only thing she had in common with them is how much she cared for Alia...and, of course, that around here, you tried to kill what you loved at least once.

     For a stunned moment, none of them could do or say anything.

     "I can't believe the ice queen pulled through..." Calavicci breathed.

     "Get me the hell offa this thing," Al ordered, wriggling against his restraints. The other men woke up and began to undo the straps. They weren't out of trouble yet, but he was visibly relieved to be free.

     "I'm not much into bondage anymore either," Calavicci joked tiredly.

     Al glanced at him and gave an awkward smirk. They'd had very little interaction, their most prominent encounter being when his double had tortured him with his past while slowly driving him insane. They weren't exactly going to be friends. Suddenly, he realized there were only two men here. "Where the hell's Sam?"


	7. Chapter 7

     By the time they were out, lights were flashing and the alarm was going off. Judging by the lack of opposition, they assumed the guards were busy with Zoey's electrical fires. Which gave them time but not much.

     "Sam?" Al squatted next to the closet and checked his pulse, breathing a sigh of relief. "He's just out."

     Calavicci sighed, running his hand through his hair. "Even if we get past those doors, he's never gonna make it out there."

     He and Beckett exchanged a look. They knew how grim his prospects were.

     "What does that mean?" Al stood up to join them, demanding an explanation.

     Beckett exhaled deeply, rubbing his hand across his face. He might not know exactly where they were, but he knew what he saw the first time he nearly escaped. "It's, um...look, we're in the middle of nowhere. It's a long shot for us out there anyway, but he doesn't have a chance like this."

     "What're you talkin' about?" Al stamped his foot and cocked his head, annoyed. "You know, you two are so quick to give up when it isn't your asses!" Sure they weren't that attached to Sam, but did they have to be so moronic? It was their lives on the line as well. "Did you ever stop to think that St. John needs a way outta here too? They gotta have some transport around here somewhere!"

     "And how exactly do you plan on getting to it?" Beckett asked angrily. As if he hadn't thought of that. "We have no idea where to go and pretty soon, this place is going on lockdown!"

     Calavicci rubbed the back of his neck. "Actually, uh...the kid had a plan. A pretty good one, up until he got caught, that is." Now he had their attention. "He said that rebooting Lothos would leave a temporary window where anything she controls can be manually overridden, including the exit. Only problem is, we'd have to split up to unlock the doors in time. That's how come he got caught in the first place."

     "But this time, we got four people," Al pointed out with hope, "It's a better shot than nothing."

     "Okay," Beckett stroked his chin anxiously, "but how do we find out where the transport is?"

     A pause. "Map!" Al exclaimed, rushing to the nearest door panel. He began to punch several buttons. "Yeah, uh...if this is anything like Ziggy, we should be able to access a map of the Project from anywhere."

     "That's crazy," huffed Calavicci, "Why would you be idiotic enough to make that accessible through a door panel?"

     Al squinted at him askance. " _You_ never had to find your way through an elaborate underground facility in the middle of New Mexico, in the dead of summer, without Sam's handy photographic memory." He pressed a few more buttons, and nothing. "Oh come on, you rotten pile of scrap metal!" Angrily, he smacked the panel and, as if by magic, a holographic map projected itself onto the wall. Just like Ziggy. "Aha! Yes!"

     Beckett and Calavicci couldn't believe that worked, but they'd take it.

     Filled with excitement, the three of them scrambled to the map. Calavicci jabbed his finger at a large room. "There. That has to be it. It's close to the exit and large enough to hold several vehicles."

     Al nodded. "I'd bet money on it."

     They turned to Beckett, who was staring at the map, lost in thought.

     "Kid?"

     Beckett shook his head at Calavicci's voice. "Yeah. Yeah, this might work..." He turned to Al. "Do you know how to reboot this computer?"

     Fingers through his hair in thought, Al shook his head. "Uh, no. I worked with Ziggy a lot, but Sam and Gooshie were the computer whizzes."

     "Then Sam's coming with me." Before he'd finished his sentence, he was turning around. But Al stepped in his way.

     "Are you kiddin' me? Sam's not in any shape to be doing anything right now!"

     "He's the only one who knows how to do this, so do you have better idea?"

     Al was stuck for a moment. He did not. "Well--I, uh...then I'm coming with you."

     "No. We need two people on each end in case something happens to the other one."

     "Then let me go with Sam and you go with me--I mean him!" He jerked his thumb at Calavicci.

     Calavicci didn't want to separate either, not after what happened the first time. But the truth was, it was the best plan they had. He believed in Sam, and with two of them the odds were even more in their favor. He had to tell himself that anyway.

     Grabbing Al by the shoulder, Calavicci tried to get him to back off. "Look, he might not be your Sam, but he's the closest we got. In case...yours doesn't make it, maybe mine can figure out what to do."

     Incredulous, Al looked between the two men with disgust. How could they count Sam out so quickly? "This is crazy! There's no way I'm leaving Sam with you! And besides that, he can't speak for himself right now, so allow me: It's not happening."

     "Yes it is." With surprise, the three of them found Sam crumpled against the wall, somehow having gotten to his feet. He struggled, but he stayed upright.

     "Sam!" Al rushed over, propping him up. What was he doing walking around? He wasn't in the right state of mind that was for sure. Who knew how much blood he'd lost? "Hey, you don't know what you're talking about."

     "Yes...I do..." Sam pushed himself up straighter. "Al. I have...to do this..."

     He just looked so determined, and Al hated that look. It meant he was going to do something brave and dumb, like he always did. And Al was powerless against it. He went through many arguments in his head, trying to come up with a suitable excuse for why it couldn't possibly be him. Finally, "Sam..." he whispered pitifully, "You could die."

     Sam met his eyes, swallowing hard. "It's not just...me..."

     Staring at Sam long and deep, Al realized he couldn't find a way out of this one. Sam was right. If they didn't make it out, everyone they ever helped was at stake, and not just them, but the people they affected, and so on and so on. And Al didn't want that to happen any more than any of them, but there was no way on god's green earth Sam Beckett wouldn't use his last breath trying to stop it.

     And if anyone could beat the odds, it was Sam.

     Painfully, Al nodded. "I'll see you soon, Sam."

     The corner of Sam's mouth turned up. "See you soon."

\-------

     "ZIGGY!"

     Ziggy's smooth voice drifted lazily from the speakers. "There's no need to shout, Dr. Gushman."

     "Y-You're, uh...absolutely right, Ziggy. I'm sorry to bother you, but I have a, um... _small_ favor to ask."

     "Yes...?"

     "Can you look up how to defuse a bomb really quick?"

     Sweating bullets, Gooshie and Tina hovered over the bomb as they watched the counter tick down. Too terrified to move, Tina dug her neon pink fingernails into his arm as she clung to him for dear life. Finally getting to be too much, Gooshie grimaced and pulled himself away.

     "Hm...no."

     "Zig--"

     "ZIGGY!" Tina rocketed to her feet. "We can't play around right now! We seriously need to defuse this bomb, or we're all, like, d-e-a-d!"

     "I'm perfectly capable of spelling, Dr. Martinez O'Farrell," Ziggy replied snootily, "I'm not, however, programmed to interact with weapons of any kind. I must remind you that was a rule of Dr. Beckett's." She was right, of course. Sam had been paranoid Ziggy would be repurposed for war, so he'd made sure that her capabilities could never be used alongside weapons. Which was a noble goal, but totally useless to them right now.

     Tina squealed in panic, dropping beside Gooshie once more and clutching his sore arm. "You turned it on! Now turn it off!"

     "I-I don't know how!" Gooshie spluttered. They were running out of time.

     "Then we'll figure it out together. Open it up!"

     "What?!"

     "Oh never mind, let me do it!" Impatiently, Tina shoved him aside and darted forward, cracking open the side of the bomb.

     "Wait, don't touch that!"

\-------

     Red flashing. Noise. An alarm. A flurry of motion. Much of their journey to the Control Room was a blur, but somehow Beckett had gotten Sam to Lothos's controls.

     He looked nearly dead, the effort of simply entering in code a gargantuan task. He had to finish this. He had to. Beckett didn't know if they could finish what they started without him.

     He'd spent so long hating him, and now he just wanted him to live.

     He wasn't the man he thought he was, but Beckett had never been much of a man either. In the end, Sam Beckett was just human. And if Beckett was going to forgive himself, he had to forgive Sam. It was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do, but he knew now this was what had to be done. His double, half alive and with so little prospects, still fought so that the others would live. It was the right thing to do.

     The world needed Sam Beckett.

     His head dipped and he began to slump, all of his efforts beginning to take their toll.

     Beckett caught him. "Hey. Stay awake. No one gets out if you mess this up."

     Sam blinked, forcing his unswollen eye open, but his arms refused to respond. He was so tired.

     This time, Beckett leaned onto the chair and lowered himself to his level. Taking Sam by the shoulders, his voice was soft. "Sam. Please." He pursed his lips. It was hard being this close to him after everything. But he knew the truth. He'd accepted it. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he forced a smile on his face. "You have to get home. Take care of Mom and Katie and Tom. They...they need you."

     Sam tried to push through the fog. It didn't seem real what Beckett was offering.

     "They're waiting. Tom and Katie and their kids." He blinked back tears at the memory. "They're waiting for you to come home. You can't let them down. Okay?"

     His family.

     Forcing himself onward, Sam nodded and dragged his hands back. With a few more lines of code, his hand slammed heavily onto the console.

     The Project went dark.

\-------

     Calavicci and Al reacted to the sudden power outage. That was their cue.

     Keeping watch, Al glanced over his shoulder at Calavicci as he worked on the lock. "You sure you know what you're doing?"

     "No," Calavicci replied honestly. A beat. "But we've made an impossible escape before."

     Al didn't say anything, but they were both sharing the same memory. His last day as a POW, frail and thin and near death, and the moment he knew he was repatriated. He'd survived then. He would survive now.

     Calavicci tried to keep his hands still as he worked. This was the closest they had ever gotten to leaving this place. The thought of being free again couldn't register yet. He and Sam...they were nearly out. What would they do if that happened?

     Go somewhere warm.

     _"Listen, Sam. I expect you to come back in one piece."_

_Beckett smiled shakily. "Don't I always?"_

_"Not always."_

_Beckett stopped, avoiding his eyes. Then, confidently, "I promised I'd never abandon you again. I'm going to keep it."_

_Calavicci squeezed his shoulder and grinned. "I know you will."_

_And he watched him take Sam and disappear._

     The door opened and they rushed inside. Following a short hallway, they exited into a garage with racks of dozens of snowmobiles. Al was starting to realize why it had been so cold and why their chances of making it on foot were so poor.

     Great. Snow. Yuck.

     "Hey, come help me with this." Calavicci was straining to take a snowmobile down.

     Al jogged over. "How long do you think it'll take Sam and...Sam, to get here?"

     Grunting, they finally managed to pull one loose. Panting, Calavicci shrugged. "I dunno...but it better be soon. They're gonna...find us...sooner or later..." He frowned at the snowmobile. "Uh....you know how to drive one a'these things?"

     "Hey, what do we always do?" Al said with a cavalier shrug. "We'll bullshit our way through it."

     Calavicci smirked. He kinda liked himself.

     A loud banging, and the two of them jumped. The sound of marching told them it wasn't their partners making their way into the garage.

    Boy, they'd better hurry. 

\-------

     Staggering down the hall, Beckett once again was supporting Sam as they raced toward the exit at a snail's pace. The flashing lights washed over them like waves as the alarm faded into a dull muffle and the sound of Beckett's breathing filled Sam's head. What little time they had seemed to slow into eternity. The hall stretched itself deeper and deeper until it faded into black like a cavern into hell itself.

     He'd thought he was going to die. He might still. His brain was fuzzy.

     Suddenly, they stopped.

     Leaning Sam against the wall, Beckett held onto his shoulders and they just stared at each other. For a moment, neither said anything. Simply understood.

     Beckett's face was hard. "You know what I'm going to do...don't you?"

     Sam did. "Would have...if I could..."

     "I know." Beckett cast his eyes around the room. They shouldn't be standing there long. "Can you make it?" Closing his eyes, Sam nodded. Barely. "Good. Go as fast as you can, because I'm not waiting for you." Again, Sam nodded.

     For another beat, Beckett stared at his unfulfilled future and tried to memorize him. Wanted to say so much but had no time.

     But then again, Sam knew most of it anyway.

     Beckett's voice cracked. "Tell Al...my Al, I mean...tell him I'm sorry I never said it back." Sam's mouth curled up in acknowledgement.

     This was it then.

     Beckett started to leave, but the other man's soft voice spoke out. "Thank you...Sam."

     He stopped. Slowly, turned around. Sam, still propped against the wall, was watching him with earnest. It was everything Beckett could do not to break down with profound, happy grief.

     He was Sam again.

     He smiled sadly, and then limped away.

\-------

     CLANG! A guard's face smashed into the wall as two Al Calaviccis ambushed him. He fell on top of the last guard who had marched their way through.

     Panting, Al rested his hands on his knees. "I don't like this. It's not gonna be long before the whole troop finds out where we are."

     "You're tellin' me. The Sams had better light a fire under their asses."

     Raising his eyebrows nervously, Al glanced at his double with hesitation. "How long...uh, how long are we supposed to wait...?"

     Calavicci lowered his eyelids, deadpan. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

     Al chuckled a bit despite himself. No way would they leave Sam behind. They waited until they showed up, or fought their way in to save their butts again. "Hey, watch out!"

     They'd been momentarily distracted just long enough for Calavicci's skull to come into close contact with a club. He collapsed to the ground as the guard charged toward Al.

\-------

     "Try the blue wire. NO! The red!"

     At Tina's squeal, Gooshie jumped so high he nearly hit the ceiling. His shaking hands jerked away from the bomb as if it had already ignited.

     "Might I suggest both?" Ziggy idly piped in.

     "Not now, Ziggy!" Tina yelled. She bit her nails as Gooshie reached for the wires again. "Ohhh please be careful, baby!"

     "I-I'm trying..." Gooshie breathed, wiping the sweat from his brow, "I'm afraid this-this is all very new to me a-and I'm a little n-nervous..."

     "God, I can't believe I'm gonna blow up! I had so much I wanted to do! I never even had a pair of Jimmy Choos!"

     Gooshie swallowed and tried to be calm. He wasn't good at it. "Don't b-be scared. There--there'll be plenty of shoes in the future."

     Slumping down beside him, Tina said softly, "Ya think so, Irving?"

     She used his real name. Gooshie froze. "M-Maybe we can, uhhh... maybe we can go shoe shopping together."

     "Huh?"

     Turning to her with as much bravery as he could muster, Gooshie blurted out, "I love you, Tina, and I always have."

     Eyes as wide as saucers, Tina seemed to forget about the bomb for a moment. "For real?"

     More frightened than ever, an even wider-eyed Gooshie frantically bobbed his head up and down. "For real. And if this is my last chance--"

     Hands shooting out like rockets, Tina grabbed Gooshie by the face and pulled him into a passionate kiss.

\-------

     "Hey! Hey, wake up!" Shaking Calavicci by the shoulders, Al tried to bring him back to consciousness. He was out like a light, with an impressive knot forming on the back of his head. He'd be okay, but this was absolutely the worst time to take a snooze. Sighing with exasperation, Al looked up toward GTFW. "Jeez, could you give us a break for once?"

     He could hear the door opening. Grabbing the club off of the unconscious guard, Al hid and waited.

     A hand grasped the wall. With a wild yell, Al lifted the club and rounded the corner.

     Only to barely stop himself when he realized it was Sam. His near miss was so wild he nearly swung himself completely around. The club hit the ground with a thud as he shot forward to catch Sam as he started to collapse.

     "Sam! Thank god!" Al half-laughed. "You two almost had me worried for a minute there."

     Sam was running on empty at this point. He'd been using the last of his strength simply to stay awake, and now his overexertion was catching up to him. "Out..." he rasped, "Have...to get out..."

     That's when Al saw the blood streaked across the wall. A dark shadow fell over him, but he tried not to let his friend see it.

     "Yeah. Of course, Sam. We're getting out." Al's brows furrowed as he realized one key person was missing. "Where's the other one?"

     Coughing, Sam shook his head. "Not...coming..."

     Something intangible slammed into Al's chest. He hadn't realized how hard hearing that would hit him now. Beckett was...he was different. Al saw who he was becoming and wished he could have seen him complete his journey. What the hell was the point of him dying now? It just seemed so damn unfinished.

     He was his friend.

     Again, he was staring at the blood. Damn it, Sam. You were supposed to make it. Sometimes GTFW seemed like it was playing a cruel joke.

     He didn't have time to mourn. With a new sense of urgency, Al craned his neck back at the still-unconscious Calavicci. "Sam, I hate to do this, but you gotta drive. Just...just hang in a little longer, buddy. Okay?"

     Sam couldn't argue if he wanted to, but it killed Al inside to see just how terrible he looked. He was in no condition to be doing anything, but what choice did they have? He led Sam to a snowmobile pulled just outside of the garage door, seated him on top, started it up, and then dragged Calavicci over to the back of his.

     And just in time. The sound of many more marching footsteps drew closer.

     Al cast one last look back at the Project and thought of Beckett. _Damn it all._

     "Okay. Let's blow this place!"

     They sped off into the endless white.

\-------

     Upwards. Upwards, forward, ascending. Beckett dragged himself, exhausted and in pain, up the stairs and toward the roof. There, according to the map imprinted in his photographic memory, was the nuclear core of this project.

     He was terrified, more terrified than he had ever been. But he knew this was right. Not because of himself, but because of everyone else. Everyone he'd affected, everyone they'd affected, everything caught in the ripples. Just because he got out didn't mean it would stop. Not the killing, not the maiming. The cycle would continue until the end of history itself. Unless, of course, he did something.

     This was what he had been brought into this world to do.

     _To dream the impossible dream, to fight the unbeatable foe, to bear with unbearable sorrow, to go where the brave dare not go…_

     Most of his life had been spent hating and hurting, himself and the world. He'd convinced himself that there was no use in trying to be a better man, but he was wrong. So wrong. He wasn't sure if anything he did here would make a difference in the end, but he had to try. He had to be Don Quixote.

     _To right the unrightable wrong, to love pure and chaste from afar, to try when your arms are too weary, to reach the unreachable star…_

     There it was. He arrived at the roof and was overwhelmed by the core's magnificent crimson light.

_This is my quest, to follow that star, no matter how hopeless, no matter how far. To fight for the right without question or pause, to be willing to march into hell for a heavenly cause..._

It beckoned to him. Go. Save someone. Anyone. Save yourself.

_And I know if I'll only be true to this glorious quest, that my heart will lay peaceful and calm when I'm laid to my rest..._

   It was time. His family was safe; he knew they had a worthy guardian. He knew Al would be okay. All would be well.

Reaching the core, he stopped and stared. There was no turning back now. This would be his final act for the world he had hated so much before.

     And he smiled.

     _And the world will be better for this, that one man scorned and covered with scars, still strove with his last ounce of courage, to reach--_

     BANG BANG! BANG!

     He didn't even feel it at first. Confused, he looked down to find three bullet holes in his chest. Slowly, blood began to drip down.

     His body collapsed.

     "Oh Samuel..." Lackadaisically, St. John strolled next to him with his gun. "...what a disappointment you've been."

\-------

     Precariously trying to keep his unconscious passenger on board, Al was further distracted by sticking close to Sam as he weaved unevenly through the snow. He was barely hanging on. _Please, kid. Please make it._

He'd already lost one Sam today. He wouldn't lose another. They were all going to live. If they didn't make it, what did Beckett even die for? The least they could do was survive. Someone had to remember him. He'd want that.

     Al wasn't even sure what direction they should be going in, but he hoped civilization was not as far as it seemed.

     Calavicci stirred behind him. "Hmmm...?"

     "Hang on back there!" Al yelled.

     Groaning, Calavicci rubbed the back of his head. "What...? What's goin' on?"

     "We're gettin' outta here, that's what!"

     They hit a bump and Calavicci frantically grabbed onto Al. Straining his eyes, he wildly looked about them in all directions. "Where's my Sam...?"

     At a loss, Al remained silent. This set off alarm bells for his passenger.

     "Where is he?" he demanded.

     A thump. Sam keeled over beside them, falling into the snow and sending his vehicle crashing forward into a tree. With a sudden panic, Al skidded to a stop. Leaping into the snow, he trudged toward his fallen friend. "Sam!"

     But his double was close behind. Before he got close, Calavicci snatched him by the shoulders and jerked him around. "Answer me, damn it! Where the hell is he?!"

     "Let me go! Sam needs me!"

     "Not until you answer my question!"

     "He's in there, alright?!" Al smacked Calavicci violently away, gesturing toward the Project in the near distance. "Sam said he wasn't coming, so we had to go!"

     " _What?!"_ Eyes huge with alarm, Calavicci began to piece things together. "That son of a bitch!" He began to run, but this time, Al was the one stopping him.

     "What do you think you're doing? You go back there and you'll get yourself killed!"

     "I'm not leaving without him!"

     "He's gone!"

     "You dumb bastard!" Calavicci punched Al square in the jaw, knocking him on his ass. "Don't you get it?! He's gonna overload the core! He's still alive, damn it! And I can't let him do it!"

     Now Al was just as shocked. He had assumed Sam meant he was dead, but if this was true...the other Sam was about to blow himself to smithereens.

     He was going to commit the ultimate sacrifice.

     Oh boy.

     Once again, Calavicci tried to run away, but Al had grabbed him by the legs and toppled him over. "Wait! You'll just end up caught in the blast at this point!"

     "I don't care! Let me go!"

\-------

     All Beckett could feel was agony. Agony as the blood pooled around him and as he stared helplessly up at the controls just barely out of his reach.

     St. John squatted into view, his usual collected self. But Beckett knew he was mad. It wasn't his style to simply shoot someone. He wanted him dead, and he wanted it _now_.

     "Poor Samuel. You couldn't even do _this_ right." Beckett coughed, bringing up blood. This brought St. John some amusement. "So close, and yet so far. I'm just sorry I kept you alive for so long. I thought I liked you, but now I think I was fooled. You were never the real thing. Just a pale imitation." He leaned closer. "And when you die...and that will be very soon...you'll be buried like a dog." Beckett was still staring at the controls. His real fury showing through, St. John snatched Beckett by the hair and yanked his head up, causing him to grimace and gasp. His fist clenched tighter. "...forgotten."

     So much time and planning, all wasted on this abomination. A man who shouldn't have existed and always fell short. St. John took immense satisfaction in killing him.

     "And best of all...you died for nothing. I'll have my men retrieve our guests and destroy everything their miserable project stood for." St. John's good spirits were returning. Their plan hadn't been set back much. With a sick smile, he taunted, "When your blood starts choking you, think of that."

     A cough. A slow, rolling chuckle. Blood dripped down Beckett's faded grin.

     St. John lowered his eyelids, livid. "What the hell are you laughing about?"

     "...I have...a handlink..."

     Blinking, St. John looked down to see Beckett grasping a light-up triangle and entering in the last bit of code. Before he had time to react, Beckett used the last of his strength to reach up and grasp the core's main switch, wrenching it down.

\-------

     Still grappling in the snow, the two Als stopped as the sky was suddenly illuminated in a blinding red light. The force of the blast hit them even from their distance and they covered their heads and ducked.

     The explosion subsided. Terrified, the two of them slowly raised their heads to witness the rubble left in the distance.

     A painful, wheezing inhale. Al jerked his head toward Sam, who arched his back in pain. The snow began to turn red.

     "SAM!" Clawing his way over the ground, Al made it to his friend and gaped in horror. His white jumpsuit was slowly turning scarlet. "Oh god..." His hands frenziedly groping his chest, he tried to find the source of the new wounds. But his jumpsuit had no holes to suggest where it was coming from. Was he caught in the blast somehow? Unable to speak, Sam gasped and choked.

     Calavicci was standing behind them, arms slack, numb. He couldn't accept what had just happened. His Sam wasn't gone. He couldn't be.

     "Help me!" Al screamed, "I can't figure out where it's...!" He stopped. Sam looked...different. His face had healed. Something had changed.

     He looked into his eyes and realized who this was.

     "Oh my god... " Al breathed, eyes wide, "...it switched them."

     Something registered with Calavicci. Quietly: "Huh...?"

     Two things could switch a pair of leapers: a lightning strike or sitting at ground zero during an atomic detonation. Both Sams had returned to their respective places. Which meant that _this_ Sam...

     "The blast switched them back! Get over here now!"

     "SAM!" Overwhelmed with new hope, Calavicci dove into the snow to be with the Sam he thought he'd lost. As soon as he was there, Al was up. "Wait, where are you going?"

     "Do what you can for him! I have to get mine!"

     "Don't leave us here!" Calavicci yelled, but nothing could stop Al, "If he was in there, he's dead! COME BACK!"

     But Al was gone.

\-------

     Time was nearly up.

     Clinging to each other with all their might, Gooshie and Tina had mere seconds to decide what might be the correct wire. "You do it," Tina said, shaking, "I'm scared."

     "O-Okay..." Gooshie slowly reached out, but stopped abruptly. "Tina, if we make it, will you marry me?"

     In a daze and eyes never leaving the bomb, Tina shrugged and breathed, "...sure."

     With a deep breath, Gooshie reached out, closed his eyes, and yanked out one of the wires.

     Moments seemed like hours. Both of them opened a single eye to look.

     The timer had stopped.

     Bursting into uproarious laughter, Tina leapt on top of him, locking lips as they hit the ground. "Oh you did it! Oh you're so beautiful, I can't believe you did it!"

     Shaken up, Gooshie blinked and chuckled. "Neither can I."

     "Oh my god!" Tina gasped and sat up, eyes as big as saucers. "We're gettin' married!"

     Now they were both laughing.

     "Oh, wait a minute..." Gooshie sat up, straightening his lab coat and growing more serious. "Before we do that, I have to help Admiral Calavicci and Doctor Beckett!"

\-------

     There was just so much blood. Desperately, hopelessly, Calavicci pressed his hands to Beckett's chest wounds to try and stop the flow.

     Beckett was breathing erratically, his eyes drifting across the sky. Disoriented, in immense pain, his hazy gaze finally fell on Calavicci. "A-Al...?"

     "Yeah, Sam," Calavicci answered shakily, "It's me. I'm here."

     Beckett frowned, looking around him. He didn't know where he was or how he got here. Hell, he hadn't expected to be _anywhere_ now. He looked to his partner for answers. "Did..l do it...?"

     Mouth trembling, Calavicci nodded. "Yeah, Sam. You did good. You did real good." Despite his best efforts, tears started to well up. He blinked them away. "You saved them, Sam. You saved them all."

     Beckett could only manage half a grin.

     Calavicci sniffed and wiped his nose. "And--And look, Sam!" he said excitedly, forcing a smile, "Look where you are. You're free. You made it out."

     Beckett's expression remained the same, but he couldn't move. Unspoken was the shared knowledge that his freedom would be very short.

\-------

     "SAM!" Stumbling through the rubble, Al searched for his friend in near hysterics. Twisting left and right, it was difficult to tell what piece of debris had been what part of the building. "SAM! Oh god..." Running his fingers through his hair, he tried to control his breathing and remain calm until he found him.

     Sam wasn't dead. He wasn't. He couldn't be.

     "If--If you can hear me, just hang on!"

     A familiar sound. The Imaging Chamber opened and he whipped around to see Gooshie running toward him. "Admiral Calavicci! I'm sorry I'm late, but--" Cutting himself off, he did a double take at the destruction. "What happened here?!"

     "Gooshie, center on Sam! Now!"

     Without needing to be told twice, Gooshie punched a few buttons and blinked out, reappearing about twenty feet away and his feet buried in the wreckage. Pressing in a code slid him under the ground. His head popped back up shortly and he waved toward Al. "Over here! About two feet under the rubble!"

     Al was running as soon as Gooshie had popped in above Sam. He drove into the rocks, scraping his hands as he began to dig. _Just hold on, Sam. Hold on. I'm coming!_

Unable to do much as a hologram, Gooshie was keeping intense watch on the handlink. "His vital signs are weak, but he's alive. Keep digging!"

     Eventually, Al saw a hand, limp and bloody. Then an arm. Then a head. Sam was still out and covered in wounds and grime. "Sam, can you hear me? Sam?" Sam didn't respond, but Al was just surprised he even looked this good. He was surprisingly intact all things considered. He stopped to breathe, just for a moment, and ran his hand down his face in shock. "Oh my god...they must've leaped in the middle of it. It protected them."

     Which meant Sam had a good chance of making it. With that recharge, Al kept digging enough to grab him by the arms and pull him out. He had to get him to a hospital and quick. How far were the snowmobiles?

     Curiously, Gooshie shuffled over and tried not to look too closely at the injuries. "How is he?"

     "He's alive. But he needs help."

     "And--And what happened to the other one?"

     Temporarily stopping checking over Sam, Al lifted his head grimly. "I...I don't think he's gonna make it."

\-------

     Another cough brought up more blood. It dribbled down Beckett's chin and neck as he stared upward. He thought it would be quicker than this.

     Sniffling, Calavicci took his hand in both of his. "I don't know what I'm going to do without you, Sam."

     Beckett met his eyes again. "Just...do good..."

     Head bobbing up and down, Calavicci quickly answered. "I will. I will, Sam."

     He would. He knew he would. Of all the things Beckett feared, it wasn't leaving Calavicci behind. He was a good man.

     Once again, the corner of his mouth turned up. "Bye, Al..."

     Calavicci wasn't ready yet. His attempts to stay strong crumbled and he sobbed, tightening his grasp on his hand and hanging his head in shame. He wished he could be brave for him, but he was gonna miss him so damn much he thought he would die right here and now. He couldn't tell him a small percentage of what he meant to him, not in a hundred years, not in a hundred seconds. No, why did he have to lose him?!

     Then, he noticed something curious. A light...in the corner of his eye. Frowning, he looked at his hands and saw a bright blue glow.

     The light crawled slowly up his and Sam's fingers, illuminating their arms as sparks of beautiful electric energy began to overtake them. The dazzling display was so lovely he could only stare, agape, as the luminescence spread over their bodies.

     And then he was overcome with joy.

     Looking down at Beckett again, Calavicci tightened his grip and said happily, "Save your goodbyes, kid. You're not checking out yet. We've got a lot of wrongs to right first."

     Confused, the bright blue lit up Beckett's face and he felt a calmness, a soft pull toward their next destination in time. And he broke into a huge smile.

     He was at peace.

\-------

     Noticing Gooshie watching something in the distance, Al could see a light. Getting to his feet, his stepped up beside his friend to get a closer look. As he realized what was happening, he stood frozen in awe. Don Quixote and Sancho at last.

     The two figures in the snow were illuminated in blue and then flashed out of time.

     Somewhere. Somewhen. Someone.


End file.
